


Unseen Forces

by kelcat



Category: Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-07 13:00:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 99,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelcat/pseuds/kelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A nobleman who is paying for the sins of his father, and a mage who carries the burden of a thousand years of prejudice. Both seek redemption, and both fear they will never attain it. A tale of romance set during the events of Awakening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Many are those who wander in sin,_

_Despairing that they are lost forever._

Transfigurations 10

 

 

Anders shook his fingers as the last of the darkspawn was engulfed in flames. Fire spells were not his specialty, and he had a tendency to burn his own fingers when he cast them. The sound of running feet behind him had him whipping around, prepared to defend himself against more enemies. A bulky man clad in silverite armor and carrying a shield with a griffon emblazoned on the front screeched to a halt in front of him, with a rather well-endowed woman wearing lighter armor not far behind.

“Uh,” Anders gave a shaky laugh, looking at the devastation behind him, “I didn’t do it.” When neither of the new arrivals spoke, he hastened to explain. “Well, I mean, yes I took out the darkspawn. But I _definitely_ didn’t do anything to the Templars.”

He shifted uncomfortably, caught in the man’s penetrating stare, barely visible through the visor of his helm. “Not, that I’m broken up about them dying or anything . . .” He clamped his mouth shut, aware that he was babbling.

“You’re a mage?” The man finally spoke, gesturing to the staff strapped across his back.

Anders grinned at him. “I am. An apostate, to be more specific.” He gave a low bow, ignoring the woman’s gasp of surprise. “Anders, at your service.” He expected the man to question him, ask him what exactly had happened here, but all he got was that look that seemed to bore into him.

The man finally seemed to relax. “I’m Gideon.” He gestured to the woman behind him, “This is Mhairi. Can you fight?”

Anders looked at Gideon incredulously, wondering if the man was being stupid or sarcastic, seeing as how the three of them were surrounded by darkspawn corpses. “Uh, yes?”

“Good,” Gideon turned suddenly and headed for the door. He looked back at Anders, who had not moved. “You coming?” he asked gruffly.

Anders nodded, thinking it wisest to just follow the man and wait for an opportunity to get away. He couldn’t make an escape with all the darkspawn about anyway, so he may as well lend them a hand for the time being.

The fight through the Keep was more grueling than anything Anders had ever faced. Everywhere they turned there were darkspawn, intent on ripping them apart. Gideon tore through the creatures as if each and every one of them had offended him personally; the man was an army all by himself.

They found a few survivors, but not many. Anders hoped that most of the people staying at Vigil’s Keep had been able to escape before the onslaught, but the further into the Keep they ventured, the more bodies they found strewn across the floors and hanging from the rafters, nooses tied around their necks.

Breaking through into yet another room, they found a lone figure surrounded by six or seven darkspawn. Anders was a little surprised to see that he was a dwarf, as few of them ventured above ground. At least this one didn’t look as insane as the one who had blown up all those darkspawn earlier. He was equally surprised to hear Gideon let out a long hoot of laughter before jumping into the fray.

After they had dispatched the last of the creatures, the dwarf casually leaned against the banister and grinned down at them. His laid back posture made it look as if killing hordes of darkspawn was an everyday occurrence for him. Who knows, maybe it was.

For the first time, Gideon took off the heavy helm he was wearing and Anders finally got a look at his face. The man was younger than he would have expected for someone as experienced as he was in battle. His thick chestnut hair stuck out all over and obscured his features—but there was something about him that looked . . . familiar.

“’Bout time you showed up!” the dwarf cackled merrily, his smile almost buried in his fire-red beard.

“Oghren!” Gideon strode up to the dwarf and clapped him on the back. “What in Andraste’s name are you doing here?”

Anders finally became aware of a scent that had been there for some time. “Maker’s breath, what is that _smell_?”

Gideon laughed. “About ten pints of ‘special brew’, I’d wager.”

“Lovely,” Anders deadpanned.

Oghren grinned at Gideon, ignoring the comments about his smell. “Thought I’d try my hand at being a Grey Warden. You know, seeing as how I’ve got all that experience.”

Gideon grinned as he swept his hair back from his face, and Anders finally made the connection, realized exactly where he’d seen the man before. “Andraste’s arse!” he stared at Gideon. “You’re that Grey Warden, the one who killed the Archdemon and cured Arl Eamon and . . . all that other stuff,” he finished lamely. The man obviously didn’t need Anders to detail all of his impressive exploits.

Gideon raised an eyebrow. “That I am,” he replied, “although Oghren helped out a bit.” He grinned over at his friend.

“A bit? Hah! I was up there on that sodding roof with you wasn’t I? I think I’ve damn well earned my place with the Wardens. You’re the new commander aren’t you? Sign me up!”

Gideon’s expression turned serious. “You know there’s risks with becoming a Grey Warden. What about Felsi? And the baby?”

Oghren looked a bit embarrassed. “Ah, well, they’ll get along fine without me. Probably be better off.” He cheered up when he saw Mhairi. “Hey, it’s the recruit with the great rack,” he leered at her.

Mhairi scowled as Anders laughed, agreeing wholeheartedly with Oghren’s blunt statement. After a few more barbs were tossed around, mostly between Anders and Oghren, Gideon ordered them onward.

Halfway down the next hallway there was a figure propped against the wall, groaning quietly.

“Rowland!” Mhairi cried out. She rushed over to kneel down in front of him.

As they got closer to the man Anders could see he was in bad shape. He was shivering violently, and he was gripping at his stomach in a manner that indicated he was most likely trying to keep a large wound closed with just his hand.

Anders knelt down next to him and concentrated. He turned to look at Gideon and shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do, he’s beyond healing magic.” As was usually the case when things were serious, tension caused him to crack a joke.“Maybe a shot of whiskey for the pain?”

Oghren nodded at him approvingly, “I like the way you think.”

Mhairi frowned. “I can’t believe the two of you are joking about this! He’s _hurt._ ”

Anders stood up and moved closer to Gideon. “I think he’s poisoned, but I don’t know what with,” he said in a low voice, not wanting to upset Mhairi further. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Gideon nodded. “Darkspawn corruption. It’s fatal.” He didn’t bother to keep his voice down.

“Co-Commander?” The wounded man rolled his head to the side, his glazed eyes trying to focus on Gideon.

Gideon took a few steps closer. “What happened here?”

“Darkspawn . . . everywhere . . .” the man grimaced in pain, it was obvious that even the effort of speaking was difficult for him. “Don’t know . . . don’t know where they came from . . . surprised us . . .” He gasped for air. “There’s one . . . their leader I think . . . it . . . it _talks_!”

Oghren grunted. “No such thing as talking darkspawn, the lad must be delirious.”

Gideon gave the dwarf a stern look before kneeling down next to Mhairi. “Where did it go? Their leader.”

“It was headed . . . for the roof, I think.”

“Why is everything always on the sodding roof?” Oghren complained.

Rowland cried out suddenly, his body curling in on itself. “Commander, please. It—it _burns_.” He turned his eyes to Gideon, his face contorted in agony. Gideon nodded to the dying man. He pulled a dagger out and swiftly slit Rowland’s throat.

Mhairi cried out. “How could you—”

Gideon’s eyes were hard. “He was already dead. Better to end it quickly then make him suffer further.”

Mhairi glared, but said nothing. Placing a hand over Rowland’s face she closed his eyes. “I will avenge you,” she said softly, “I swear it.”

Anders had to resist rolling his eyes. What did she think they’d been doing for the last hour? Having a stroll in the park?

Oghren grunted. “Darkspawn killed him, lass. Best way you can avenge him is to keep fighting.” His voice was oddly soothing.

Mhairi nodded and she and Gideon stood up. “Let’s go,” Gideon said, gruffly.

Two flights of stairs and a few dozen darkspawn later, they were on the roof. The tableau before them was strange, to say the least. Anders had never seen a darkspawn before today, but he instinctively knew that the tall one standing in front of them was almost certainly unique.

As they approached, they saw it hurling one of the soldiers off the roof, a dull thud sounding below them a few seconds later. There was another, older, man on his knees with one of the darkspawn standing behind him with a sword pressed to his neck.

The strange-looking darkspawn looked down at the man. “It has ended, just as he foretold.”

“Maker’s breath,” Anders exclaimed, “it _is_ talking!”

Oghren hefted his large war axe. “Well, let’s shut it up!”

Gideon let out a blood-curdling war cry as they leapt into action. The talking darkspawn was tougher than the ones they had dealt with inside the Keep, but they eventually succeeded in taking it and its cronies down.

The older man got to his feet, breathing heavily. “Many thanks to you, ser, you have good timing indeed.”

Gideon said nothing as he crouched down to get a closer look at the monster they had just felled. The older man faltered just a bit at Gideon’s seeming ignorance of him. “I am Varel, Seneschal of Vigil’s Keep. You are the new Warden-Commander, yes?”

Gideon finally acknowledged the other man and went over to speak with him. A flurry of movement in the courtyard below caught Anders’ eye and he went over to the edge of the parapet to get a closer look. Judging by the impressive-looking armor, the man leading the procession was someone important. And flanking him were— _ah, fuck!_

Gideon finally noticed the crowd below and seemed to agree with Anders’ sentiments. “What the hell is it now?” They made it back through the Keep and into the courtyard in record time, as the way had already been cleared earlier.

Anders’ stomach was churning as they neared the group of people now stopped near the gate. Now that they were closer, Anders recognized the heraldry on the man’s armor as being that of the Crown. But he was more distracted by the Templars flanking the King, especially the woman to his left. Anders shifted back just a little, hoping fervently that he wouldn’t be recognized.

Peering over at Gideon, Anders thought he saw a look of distaste pass across his face just before he knelt down in front of the King. He watched as Mhairi and Varel followed suit, both in considerably more awe than Gideon seemed to be.

After the expected show of respect, Gideon stood up stiffly.

“It looks like I’ve arrived a bit late,” the King was grinning.

Gideon’s face was stony. “How convenient for you,” he replied gruffly.

King Alistair’s smile faltered. “Yes, well . . . it’s good to see you, too.” There was a hint of anger in his voice, and the air seemed to get a bit colder as the two men stared at each other warily.

“Why are you here?” Gideon asked abruptly.

The King seemed to put on a more ‘regal’ expression. “I wanted to formally welcome the new Warden-Commander.”

Gideon rolled his eyes. “Well, you have. You can go now.” The tension in the air was palpable.

Alistair looked truly angry now. “Now, see here, I’m still—”

He was cut off by the stern-looking woman standing next to him. The stern-looking _Templar_ —the one who Anders had hoped he’d never see again.

“Your Majesty, beware. This man is a dangerous criminal!” She pointed at Anders. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. The woman always did have a penchant for being dramatic.

Anders forced himself to grin.“Rylock, you minx,” he said coyly, “you’re looking as stunning as ever.”

She glared at him fiercely. “Where are the Templars who were bringing you in?” She demanded.

He hesitated. “They’re dead,” he finally admitted.

Rylock’s face turned purple with rage. “ _Murderer!_ I always knew you’d turn abomination!” She reached for her sword.

Anders backed up quickly. “I haven’t turned anything! It was the darkspawn—”

“Enough.” King Alistair’s voice was more commanding than Anders had yet heard. “I’ve seen abominations before, Rylock. They weren’t nearly as good-looking, believe me.”

Anders wondered briefly if the King was making a pass at him, before deciding that he just didn’t have that good of a sense of humor. “Yes!” he agreed quickly. “They’ve got more boils on their face, and . . .” he trailed off lamely.

“Anyway,” Alistair continued, “You can’t just execute him because you _think_ he’s turned into an abomination.” He seemed to think a moment. “Just take him back to the tower, Greagoir and Irving can decide what to do with him.”

“I have a better idea,” Gideon grinned widely, looking even scarier than when he glared, if that was possible. “I’m invoking the Right of Conscription.”

_“What?_ ” Anders and Rylock both said, at the exact same time. “I’m not sure that I’d make the best Warden,” Anders grinned, “I’m not very good with the whole ‘discipline’ thing.”

Gideon raised an eye. “You’d rather go back to the Circle?”

“On second thought,” Anders said hastily, “being a Grey Warden sounds like an _excellent_ idea!”

Alistair stared intently at Gideon. “Are you sure about this?”

“Oh, yes,” Gideon’s grin widened even further. “Positive.” Anders suspected there was something more going on than just trying to decide what to do with an errant apostate, but he wasn’t about to ask. Not when his fate was hanging in the balance.

“Then I’ll allow it,” Alistair finally said, seemingly reluctantly.

Rylock was positively apoplectic. “But, your Majesty—”

“The Wardens have the right to conscript whomever they choose,” Gideon said. “Not even the Crown can override that.” He cast a significant glance at the King. “Now, if there’s nothing else you need . . .”

The King seemed taken aback by Gideon’s obvious dismissal. “Well, I wanted to see if you needed anything . . .”

“We can handle it,” Gideon said, firmly. “You should get back to your pretty little wife.”

Alistair scowled at that. It was no secret that he and Queen Anora had little love for each other. It had been a marriage of convenience, nothing more. And, if the rumors were true, it had been Gideon who had forced them into it.

“Then I shall leave you to it,” King Alistair said, stiffly. As Alistair and his party were leaving—along with a spluttering Rylock—Gideon turned and looked at the rest of his party. All of them, Anders included, were staring at him open-mouthed, taken aback by his curt dismissal of the King of Ferelden. People did not usually treat royalty like that and live, but Gideon seemed not to care what the King thought of him.

He looked at them sternly. “Come on. We have work to do, and a Joining to perform.”

The three prospective Wardens spent the next few hours hauling the dead outside and onto pyres; one for the darkspawn, and one for their unfortunate victims who hadn’t managed to escape the Keep in time. Gideon was in the throne room with Varel, making some kind of “preparations.” He emerged some time later to help them finish their task.

It was late evening by the time they’d finished their dark and gruesome job. After they’d cleaned up they all trooped into the throne room. Sitting on a table was a large goblet filled with a dark liquid. As they watched, Gideon emptied the three vials of darkspawn blood they’d collected from the corpses into the goblet. Anders’ stomach rolled when he realized that they were going to be drinking that.

Gideon looked at each of them in turn: Mhairi. Oghren. Anders. His expression was grim. “There’s not really much of a ritual, but I’ll say the words that were spoken at my Joining, and every Joining before.” He bowed his head.

_“Join us, brothers and sisters._

_Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant._

_Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn._

_And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten,_

_And that one day, we shall join you.”_

Oghren took the goblet first, mumbling something about the size of the cup. Anders barely heard him, he was too on edge. It might not be much of a ritual, but there was something about this moment that was very . . . final. This was no game. But still, he reflected, no matter what happened this had to be better than the alternative. He had no illusions about what his fate would have been if Rylock had gotten her way.

He watched as Oghren drank from the goblet. At first, nothing much seemed to happen. Then his eyes filmed over and he let out a loud belch that smelled of rancid vomit. Anders couldn’t help but laugh, but was quickly silenced by Gideon’s glare.

Gideon took the cup from Oghren’s unresisting hands and brought it to Anders. “From this moment forth, Anders,” he intoned, “you are a Grey Warden.”

Anders took the cup reluctantly. “All right, but if I wake up two weeks from now on a ship bound for Rivain in nothing but my smallclothes, and a tattoo on my forehead—I’m blaming you.”

Gideon raised an eyebrow. “Has that ever happened, before?”

Anders hesitated. “Well, not the tattoo, obviously.”

He lifted the goblet to his lips and drank, the taste making him gag a little. He barely had time to pass the goblet back to Gideon before he began to sway. A horrific roaring filled his ears, blocking out all other senses. Suddenly, a huge beast loomed in his vision—some type of dragon maybe.

Then blackness overtook him, and he knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DragonReine, an incredibly talented digital artist, created a beautiful portrait for this story: [Intimacy](http://dragonreine.deviantart.com/art/Intimacy-298785369).


	2. Chapter 2

Anders woke with a start, biting back a strangled cry; images of darkspawn still raged in his mind. His head was pounding and his mouth felt thick and fuzzy, as if something nasty had recently died in it. He was lying on his back on the hard floor and staring up at the ceiling, and he realized he must still be in the throne room. He wondered how long he had been out.

He turned his head to the side, and saw a blanket stretched out on the floor beside him—the unmistakable form of a body beneath it. He sat up, his muscles protesting at the movement. His eyes were still fixated on the still form beside him.

“Mhairi didn’t make it.” Anders whipped his head around to see Gideon standing nearby.

“What do you mean she didn’t make it?” Anders asked. Suddenly it dawned on him. “The Joining can be _fatal_? Why didn’t you tell us?”

Gideon shrugged. “It would have made no difference. From the moment I conscripted you, your fate was sealed. It wasn’t as if you could have backed out.”

Anders glared at him. “You still should have told us.” He stood up shakily, dusting his robes off. “Anything else you need to fill me in on?”

Gideon nodded. “Actually there is. Come on.” He beckoned Anders to follow him. They wound their way through the Keep to a large dining hall. Oghren was already sitting at one of the long tables, a feast spread out before him. Anders suddenly realized he was starving.

He sat down in the nearest chair and began shoveling food onto the empty plate in front of him. He tore into a roast chicken without even bothering with his utensils. Maker, had he ever been this hungry before?

“So, Gideon—” Anders started to say, between mouthfuls of food.

“Commander,” Gideon cut him off, seating himself beside Oghren.

“What?”

“You’re a Grey Warden now,” Gideon said sternly, “and I’m your commander. I expect you to address me as such.”

“Fine, _Commander_.” Anders’ voice had a touch of sarcasm in it. “Are you going to tell us all of the Grey Warden secrets now? Is there some sort of special handshake we need to learn?”

Oghren guffawed at that. “You and me are gonna get along just fine, boy.”

Gideon smirked. “Not yet, but I’m sure we could come up with one if you wanted.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. So, the Commander was actually capable of cracking jokes. That was a good sign. He grabbed for the mug of ale that one of the servants had just brought him.

“First thing to know about the Grey Wardens,” Gideon began, heaping potatoes onto his plate, “is that your appetite’s going to increase tenfold.”

Anders nodded as he grabbed for a roll. Oghren gave a loud belch, which Anders soon came to learn was a sort of sign of agreement from the dwarf.

Gideon paused in his eating, his tone more serious. “Also, Wardens only live about thirty years after their Joining.” Both Anders and Oghren paused at that. “That darkspawn blood you just drank tainted you. It’s what helps us to sense the darkspawn and the Archdemon, and it makes us immune to the taint for a time. But eventually we’ll succumb to it just like anyone else would. It just takes us longer.”

“So, what happens after thirty years,” Anders asked. “Do we just . . . fall over dead or something?”

“No, nothing like that,” Gideon said. “There’s something known as the Calling. Those nightmares you had after you took your Joining will plague you for the rest of your life, but with time you’ll learn to more or less block them out. But eventually they come back, worse than ever before. When that happens, Grey Wardens usually go down to the Deep Roads.”

“The Deep Roads?” Anders asked. “That’s in Orzammar isn’t it? Why go there?”

Oghren answered. “It’s where the darkspawn come from. Where they hide when there’s not a Blight goin’ on.”

Gideon nodded. “It’s a tradition. We Wardens spend our lives fighting darkspawn. It’s fitting that we go out taking down as many as we can.”

Anders shifted uncomfortably. “What happens if we don’t go? Will the taint kill us?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Gideon replied, “but I’ve seen people with the taint—it drives them insane. Eventually.”

Anders shuddered. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so hungry.

“So,” he said, “now that we’ve got all of the cheerful stuff out of the way, care to tell me about you and the King?”

Gideon had resumed eating. “What about me and the King?”

“Well, all of the ballads say how you and Alistair were pretty buddy-buddy during the Blight.”

Oghren snorted. “Can’t believe every story you hear, lad.”

Gideon nodded. “That was Leliana, the Bard we were travelling with. She’s a ‘we should all be best friends’ sort of person. It irritated her to no end that Alistair and I didn’t get along.”

“Why didn’t you get along?” Anders asked. “I’d have thought you two would be pretty close, seeing as how you were the only Grey Wardens left in Ferelden at the time.”

“We were . . . very different people,” Gideon replied. “We had actually started getting along towards the end, but then the Landsmeet happened and whatever chance we had at friendship was gone for good.”

Anders cocked his head, curious. “What, because you made him marry Anora?”

“No, because I spared Loghain and made him a Grey Warden,” Gideon scowled. “Alistair thought I was betraying him by doing so, and making a mockery of the Grey Wardens.”

Anders looked at him incredulously, “Wait, you spared Teyrn Loghain? The man who betrayed King Cailan at Ostagar?”

“You didn’t know that?” Gideon asked, surprised.

“The news we get at the Tower comes in bits and pieces. We heard about the Landsmeet, but nothing was ever said of what happened to Loghain.”

“We never made a big deal about it. I may have spared him, but I certainly didn’t want him to be thought of as a hero.”

Anders couldn’t help but agree with the King, if all the things he’d heard about Loghain were true he probably did deserve to die. “Then why did you let him live? After everything he’d done?”

Gideon sighed. “I had enough blood on my hands already, I didn’t want any more. And even if I’d let Alistair execute him instead, the choice still would have been mine.”

Anders waited for Gideon to go on. “Before the battle at Ostagar, a man named Rendon Howe had my family murdered. He was the Arl of Amaranthine—and don’t think the irony is lost on me that I’ve take his place as the new arl.” He smiled, humorously.

“I was finally able to confront him, months later. To avenge my family. So I killed him, slit his throat, but . . it didn’t bring me the peace I was looking for.”

Oghren looked angry. “Don’t you go feeling guilty for killing that bastard, he deserved what he got!”

Gideon nodded at the dwarf. “I don’t feel guilty, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. All I’m saying is that my killing him didn’t change anything. I got revenge on my family, but they were still dead. There was no closure, no peace.”

He drank deeply from his mug of ale. “Alistair wanted Loghain dead for the fact that he killed a man he cared for, that he saw as a father figure. That betrayal was more important to him than Loghain’s betrayal of Cailan; Alistair’s need for revenge was personal. If we had had enough time, I would have brought Loghain to trial. He’d have been found guilty, of course, but at least it would have been fair.

But since we couldn’t do that,” Gideon continued, “I decided to conscript him. After all, there were only three Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden and we had a Blight to defeat; we needed all the help we could get.”

Anders was at a loss for what to say. “I’m sorry about your family,” he finally managed.

Gideon grimaced. “So am I. But my brother survived Ostagar, thankfully. He’s the new Teyrn of Highever.”

Anders searched his mind for a different topic of conversation, something not so dark.

“So what about that gorgeous witch you traveled with?” he asked, playfully. “The one you took with you to the Circle Tower?”

Gideon gave him a piercing look. “How did you know she was with me at the Tower?”

“Some of the mages who survived told me about her,” Anders said. “Mages living in the Tower don’t have much else to do but gossip.” He gave a lopsided grin. “Rumor also had it that the two of you were . . .” Gideon’s glare cut him off. Well, that was definitely the wrong topic to choose.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Gideon rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “You should get some rest. I’ve a feeling we have a lot more work ahead of us than I thought.” He grimaced. “There’s plenty of rooms up on the second floor, you two can have your pick of them. I’ve taken the chambers at the end of the hall.” He looked Anders up and down. “Don’t suppose you have much in the way of supplies.”

Anders grinned. “Naught but the clothes on my back, I’m afraid.”

Gideon nodded. “Well, you can search through the storerooms, see if there’s anything you can use. We’ll head into Amaranthine soon and get you outfitted properly.”

Oghren didn’t seem to be slowing down with his eating, but Anders’ felt as if he could sleep for a year. He got up from the table and moved toward the door. Just before going through it he turned back to Gideon.

“Commander.” He waited for Gideon to look up at him. “Thank you. For taking a chance on me.”

Gideon nodded at him. “You’ve nothing to thank me for,” he said gruffly. “Pull your weight and we’ll get on just fine.”

Climbing the stairs to the upper floor, Anders wandered down the hallway and picked a door at random. Barely looking around the room, he headed over to the bed and flopped down onto it; he was asleep within seconds.

He awoke the next morning feeling more or less rested; his dreams had been fitful, but he was used to that. As a mage, his connection to the Fade was stronger than non-mages and he was well used to shielding his mind from the more troublesome dreams.

A half-hour’s wandering through the Keep eventually led him to the bathing chambers, where he did what he could to clean up. The effect was slightly ruined by the fact that he had to put his not-quite-clean robes back on, as he didn’t have any others to wear. He’d have a look around the storerooms later as the Commander suggested, but he very much doubted that he’d find any mage’s robes in a place like this.

Gideon and Seneschal Varel were in the dining hall when Anders arrived, talking together. Or rather, Varel was talking and Gideon was giving short replies between bites of food.

“. . . there is another small matter that you should deal with as well,” Anders heard Varel say as he sat down to his breakfast. “Before the attack, some of the Orlesian Wardens caught a thief sneaking around the Keep. He’s in the dungeon now, I thought it best for you to decide what’s to be done with him.”

Gideon nodded, swallowing a bite of porridge. “I’ll see to him when I’m done here.”

After breakfast, Anders and Oghren gathered what supplies they had and met Gideon outside. The plan was for Gideon to deal with the prisoner and then head to Amaranthine for supplies. The evidence of the previous day’s battle had pretty much been wiped clean; all of the darkspawn corpses had been piled on the still-smoldering pyre some distance from the Keep, and the rain had washed away all traces of the carnage.

Gideon walked over to where two merchants had set up shop near the Keep’s outer wall. “Herren, Wade!” He was grinning. “What in Andraste’s name are _you two_ doing here?”

“Freezing our arses off, that’s what we’re doing,” the bald one pouted.

“Now Wade,” the man who must have been Herren said, “it’s not that cold, and we owe it to the Wardens to help out as much as we can.”

Gideon seemed to be half-listening to the two men bickering as he browsed the wares they had brought with them.

“So . . .” Oghren grinned at Anders, “mage, huh? What’s it like?”

Anders grinned. “To have all this power at my fingertips, you mean?”

‘No. To always have to wear a skirt.” Oghren howled with laughter at his own joke.

“Ohhh, you don’t know the story behind the robes?” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “You know how strict things are in the Circle, right? Well, the robes make quick trysts in the corner easy.” He gave Oghren a sly grin. “No laces or buttons, you’re done before the Templars even catch on.”

Oghren shifted uncomfortably. “Really?”

“Of course!” Anders leered, “Just ask anyone.” His grin widened at the look of discomfort on the dwarf’s face.

Gideon rolled his eyes, apparently overhearing their conversation. “Come on, you two. Let’s go see this prisoner.”

The dungeon in Vigil’s Keep looked like all dungeons everywhere—dimly lit, bare, no windows. It was a little too reminiscent of Anders’ time in solitary confinement in the Tower, and he left the main door open just a crack.

The lone guard stood to attention when Gideon entered. “Careful, ser,” he said as Gideon approached the only occupied cell. “This one’s a nasty piece of work; more than just a common thief, I’d wager. Took four Wardens to capture the bastard.”

Oghren whistled, “Impressive.”

Gideon glanced at the dwarf before returning his attention to the guard. He motioned for the man to unlock the cell door, and then dismissed him. The guard looked as if he wanted to object, but Gideon’s personality was forceful enough to make anyone obey.

The figure sitting inside the cell stood up and walked to the open doorway, but made no move to leave the cell. Anders shrugged his staff off of his back, and he saw Oghren place a hand on his axe; if there was to be any trouble, at least they’d be ready. Though he didn’t quite understand why Gideon was putting himself in such a vulnerable position in the first place.

The prisoner leaned against the doorway and Anders got a closer look at him: nearly black hair, chiseled features with a slightly over-large nose, not bad looking at all. There was an air about him that reminded him of Gideon—something in his stance and his expression made him seem almost . . . noble.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the ‘Great Hero’,” the man sneered. Despite the seriousness of the situation, the man’s voice sent tiny shivers down Anders’ spine; it was tantalizing—rich and gravelly.

Gideon’s face was stony. “Nathaniel Howe.”

Anders started at the name. He wondered if the man was related to Arl Howe, the one who Gideon had said murdered his family.

Quicker than lightning, Gideon pulled his arm back and punched Nathaniel in the face, hard enough to make the man stagger backwards. Ah, that would explain why he wanted the cell door opened.

“Your father murdered my entire family!” Gideon hissed as he advanced into the cell.

“My father served the Crown!” Nathaniel exclaimed, trying to stem the flow of blood that ran from his nose. “ _Your_ father was going to sell us out to the Orlesians!”

Gideon went rigid. “Who told you that?” his voice was cold, menacing.

“Doesn’t matter,” Nathaniel replied sullenly. The two men stood there, glaring at each other.

“Look,” Nathaniel finally said,  “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to your family, I swear. I’ve been in the Free Marches for the past eight years. I just got back to Ferelden a month ago.”

“So why did you come here?” Gideon asked.

“To kill you.” The man replied immediately.

Anders raised an eyebrow. “Well, that was blunt.”

Nathaniel’s shoulders slumped a little. “But after I got to the Keep, I realized I couldn’t do it. I just wanted to reclaim some of my family’s things. I wanted to . . .” he sighed, “well, it doesn’t really matter what I wanted.” He sounded weary, and slightly defeated.

His face hardened once again. “So are you going to deal out the same justice that you did to my father?”

Gideon looked at him, searchingly. “By rights you should hang for your crimes.” He sighed and shook his head. “But we were friends once, and you’re not your father.”

“So what are you going to do with me?” Nathaniel crossed his arms.

Gideon sighed once more. “I don’t rightly know. I suppose I should—” He stopped and ran a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

Just then Varel came in. “I see you’ve spoken to our guest. Have you decided what to do with him?”

Long moments passed as Gideon stood there silently, lost in thought.

“Commander?” Varel asked.

Gideon seemed to shake himself from his reverie. “Put him through the Joining.” He said, firmly.

_“What?”_ Nathaniel exclaimed.

Varel looked just as shocked as Nathaniel. “Commander, are you sure that’s wise?”

Anders felt he had to speak up. “The man just said he came here to kill you!”

Gideon glared at both men. “In case you’ve forgotten, _I’m_ the Warden-Commander here. If I want to invoke the Right of Conscription, then I’m damn well going to do so.”

Anders scowled. “You know, you don’t need to conscript _everyone_ you meet. I’m just saying.”

Oghren grunted in agreement. “You best watch your back.”

Gideon nodded. “Duly noted.” He seemed to notice that Nathaniel’s nose was still dripping blood. Anders figured it was most likely broken.

“You better heal him, Anders.” He smirked. “The man will be drinking more than enough blood as it is.” Nathaniel looked at him, confused.

Anders stepped towards Nathaniel and raised his hand. A soft blue glow emanated from his hand and he could hear the crunch of Nathaniel’s nose twisting back into its proper place.

Nathaniel flinched, his eyes widening. He seemed more surprised than pained. “You’re a mage.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “Figured that out all by yourself, did you?” He gestured towards Oghren. “And he’s a dwarf, in case you weren’t sure.”

Oghren guffawed. “Good one!”

Nathaniel glared at him and followed Gideon out of the cell. He cast one last dark glance back at the mage before exiting the dungeon.

“You’re welcome!” Anders called after him.

He sighed and shook his head. No good could possibly come of this.


	3. Chapter 3

Anders and Oghren each had an ear pressed to the heavy wooden door that opened into the throne room. The voices were muted but Anders could just barely make out the words of the speech Gideon had given them at their Joining the previous day. Silence reigned for a few moments and then there was a soft thump of something hitting the ground. Man and dwarf exchanged a glance.

Several minutes later, Gideon came out into the hallway, followed by Varel. He noticed the two Wardens waiting uneasily by the door. “He survived,” he said, guessing correctly as to why they were waiting there. “He’s out cold though, and there's things he and I need to talk about. Our trip into the city will have to wait.”

Anders sighed—he'd been looking forward to getting at least a couple more sets of robes. Maybe he could talk one of the servants into finding him a washboard and tub. His robes might still have a few tears in them from his fights with first Templars and then the darkspawn, but at least they'd be clean.

There was indeed a washtub in the kitchen, and after Anders had shooed the cook and her serving girls out of the room he spent a long while scrubbing his clothes and then waiting for them to dry out by the hearth. He was slightly amused with himself for making the women leave before stripping down—after living in the Circle Tower for so many years, he was used to doing _everything_ in front of an audience, including going to the loo. But privacy was a rare luxury that he grabbed up eagerly whenever he got a chance at it.

After a glare from the cook for taking so long and a kiss on the cheek for one of the giggling maids—he was not so eager for privacy that he'd pass up  a tumble with a beautiful woman—he decided to explore the rest of the Keep. A glimpse of the rooms the previous day had revealed what looked to be a fairly decently stocked library, and a building this large had to have a few other places of interest.

A few hours and another trip to the kitchen larder later, Anders headed for his room. Pushing the door open he was stopped in his tracks by the sight before him. There was a man standing near the dresser facing away from the door. He was stripped down to the waist and the light from the room’s fireplace highlighted the many muscles in his broad back. A few faint scars were scattered across his shoulder blades and lower back.

_Hello,_ Anders perked up _, half-naked man in my room. Not bad._ And then the man turned and he saw it was Nathaniel Howe. "Oh, it's you," he said flatly. He was not entirely certain how he felt about the other man. On the one hand, he was undoubtedly attractive. On the other hand, he had tried to kill a man who had been kind enough to spare Anders' life. Granted, he and Gideon would most likely never become bosom buddies, but he had a fair amount of respect for the Commander.

“Do you not know how to knock, Mage?” Nathaniel was glaring at him, his shirt hanging loosely in his hands.

“Why should I knock?" Anders was nonplussed. "This is my room. I slept in it last night.”

“Well it was my room when I was a child, so it’s my room now.” Nathaniel looked at him stubbornly.

“No, no way,” Anders huffed. “You cannot have dibs on something for twenty years.”

Nathaniel scowled at him. “Are you always this childish?”

Anders grinned at him cheekily as he leaned against the door frame. “Oh, no, sometimes I’m much worse.”

Nathaniel seemed to change tack. “Are all your belongings in here?” He looked around the room.

“Well, I don’t exactly have any belongings at the moment,” Anders admitted grudgingly.

“Then there’s nothing for you to move out,” Nathaniel smiled triumphantly.

Anders threw up his arms. "Fine, fine, you can have the room." He shook his head. "And you think _I'm_ childish."

Nathaniel tossed his shirt on the floor before turning back to the dresser, where a basin filled with water had been set. Anders tsked and picked the shirt up, folding it over the back of the chaise sitting in front of the fireplace. “Seeing as how I’m letting you have this room, you should learn to keep it tidy.”

Nathaniel glanced at him. “That’s what the servants are for.” _Ah_.

“Well, you’re not ‘Lord High-and-Mighty’ anymore,”  Anders said, a touch sharply. “You can clean up after yourself now.”

He saw the cords in the nobleman’s neck tighten as he scowled. His family’s loss of the arling was apparently a sore point for him. “Fine,” he said, “I shall endeavor to improve my habits.” He stared at Anders, seemingly waiting for the mage to leave.

"So," Anders said, plopping down on the chaise, ignorant of the rogue’s glare, "I take it you don't like me much."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, surprised at the change of subject. "When did I say that?"

"You don't have to,” Anders waved his hand negligently, “you have that look about you."

"And what look is that?" Nathaniel dipped his hand in the basin of water and scrubbed at his face.

Anders took a moment to admire the rogue’s curvaceous backside. “The kind of look that says you don’t like mages.”

Nathaniel looked at him thoughtfully, “I’ve never actually met a mage before, to tell the truth. So I don’t have much to compare you with.”

Anders shrugged and stood up. “Well, if you’re ever interested in learning more about mages,” he took a step towards Nathaniel, pointedly casting his eyes up and down the other man’s body, “I’d be happy to oblige you,” he purred.

He saw Nathaniel stiffen, his eyes narrowed dangerously. Anders grinned at him slyly. “Pleasant dreams, Nathaniel.” He chuckled as he left to check out the bedroom across the hall.

oOoOo

The next morning, the Wardens made it as far as the courtyard gates before they were stopped by a guard. "Commander, we have a problem," the woman said.

Gideon rolled his eyes. "Of course we do. What is it this time?"

"We think there are still darkspawn about,” she saw the look of doubt on the Commander’s face. “Let me explain. You remember that mad bomber Dworkin? Well, his explosions seem to have collapsed several floors of the Keep’s cellars. From what we can tell, pockets of darkspawn got trapped down there.”

Gideon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You’d better take me down there."

They followed the sergeant into the cellars and waited while the workers cleared enough of the rubble for them to venture further in.

"You know, Nathaniel,” Anders said conversationally as they made their way down the stairs, “you and I have a lot in common."

Nathaniel looked at him curiously. "How so?"

"Well you're hated and despised for something you have no control over—being the son of a murderous bastard.” He saw Nathaniel clench his jaw, but he continued on unabashed. “And _I'm_ hated and despised for something _I_ have no control over—being born a mage."

"That's not the same thing at all. I'm not going turn into an abomination just because I’m a Howe. Mages are dangerous.”

Anders felt himself tense at the rogue’s proclamation. "So you think mages really should be locked up in a tower?"

"I believe that mages need to be controlled, though it’s not for me to say how.” Nathaniel quickened his pace and moved ahead of Anders.

Anders thought on Nathaniel’s words as they emerged from the staircase into a large room lined with statues of strangely-garbed humans. A mabari lay on the floor in front of the door on the opposite wall.

Gideon motioned for them to stay back. “Mabaris can be dangerous,” he said. He slowly crept forward until he was crouched before the dog. The poor thing looked miserable. Its fur was caked with blood and dirt, and it was panting harshly.

Gideon reached out to the beast tentatively and it sniffed at his hand. With his other hand, he pulled what appeared to be a scrap of paper from underneath the dog’s collar. He unrolled it and scanned his eyes across the paper before handing it wordlessly to Nathaniel.

“It’s from Adria!” Nathaniel exclaimed. “She’s trapped below—we must save her.” He looked at Gideon pleadingly. “Please. She was like a mother to me.”

Gideon nodded. “We’ll look for her.” Nathaniel sighed with relief.

The sergeant had been right about the darkspawn. The next few rooms they passed through were filled with the monsters. Watching as Gideon ducked beneath a large spiked mace swung by a hurlock, Anders decided that being a Grey Warden might not be all it was cracked up to be.

They searched each of the rooms they came across, looking for the woman named Adria. Descending another staircase, Anders looked around him in surprise. “Another dungeon?” he glanced over at Nathaniel. “Your father must have been _really_ good at making enemies.”

Oghren nodded in agreement. “There’s more dungeons in this sodding place than bedrooms.”

Nathaniel's eyes widened in horror as he took in the room around him. Anders couldn't blame him. There were two sets of cells, one on either side of the room. Rust-colored stains that looked suspiciously like blood covered the floors of the cells, and several sets of manacles were anchored to the walls. There were also some spiky contraptions mounted on the walls that Anders really didn't want to know the purpose of.

“I don’t understand,” Nathaniel said, frowning, “there weren’t any cells here before.”

Gideon’s expression was grim. “Well, your father’s tastes must have changed over the years, then, because there were plenty of dungeons in his estate in Denerim.”

“Hah,” Oghren grunted, “torture chambers, more like.”

There were several men in the left-hand cell, but before Gideon had a chance to approach them the many bodies littering the floor rose up and began attacking.

Anders swallowed down his revulsion at the sight of the animated rotting corpses and concentrated on defending his fellow Wardens. Several tense minutes later all of their attackers were dead—well, dead _again_ —and Gideon went over to the men cowering inside the cell.

“What happened here?” Gideon demanded.

Anders noticed that the clothing the men wore were filthy and tattered, and judging by their sunken features they hadn’t eaten for a long time.

“Please, ser,” one of the men begged, “we don’t know. We’ve been here for so long. Please let us out!”

Gideon motioned Nathaniel forward to pick the lock on the cell door. The rogue was silent while he worked at the lock, and he didn’t seem able to look any of the men in the eye when he opened the cell door and let them out.

“Bless you, ser,” the man said to Nathaniel, “you’re a good man, you are.” Nathaniel’s face was impassive. The men thanked the Wardens several times before finally fleeing up the stairs.

Gideon moved over to a heavy-looking door and rattled the handle. “Nathaniel, come unlock this.” The rogue didn’t seem to hear him. “Nathaniel!” he barked louder.

Nathaniel seemed to mentally shake himself and strode over to where Gideon was standing. Taking out his lock picks once again he fiddled with the door handle until he got it unlocked. A wave of cool and stale-smelling air rushed out when the door swung open.

Anders peered past Gideon and Nathaniel and looked into the room beyond. It was fairly gloomy inside, but Anders could make out that the circular room was split into two levels and there were what appeared to be several sarcophagi lining the walls of both floors.

“I’ll uh, I’ll just stay up here,” Anders said nervously. “You three go on ahead.”

Gideon spared him a quick glance before going through the door, Nathaniel right behind him. Oghren shrugged and followed. Anders could hear the men moving about the room, talking to each other. Suddenly, Oghren gave a loud shout.

“Mage! Get your arse in here!”

Ignoring his fears, Anders rushed into the room. The three men were standing on the bottom floor, completely surrounded by several heavily armed skeletons. _Great, more walking corpses._ Anders cast a quick shield around Nathaniel, allowing him to back up far enough to use his bow effectively.

Anders began lobbing fire spells at the skeletons as Gideon and Oghren hacked away at them. As soon as they were all dead, Gideon began wandering around the room looking for loot. Anders toed a large sack leaning against one of the beams that propped up the ceiling. As the sack fell over its contents spilled out, revealing a rather fancy looking bow. Nathaniel rushed over and picked it up.

“This is my grandfather’s bow!” He ran his fingers reverently along the wood, tracing the outline of a symbol that had been burned into it. “Or, rather, my grandfather was the last to use it.” Anders looked at him curiously. “It was originally made for an ancestor during the Exalted Marches,” the rogue explained. Nathaniel was smiling, and Anders noticed how much younger the expression made the man look.

“Well, it’s yours now if you want it,” Gideon said. Nathaniel nodded his head and unslung the longbow he had been using, setting it against the wall. He seemed to stand a little straighter as he exited the room, the newly-discovered bow strapped to his back.

Not much further into the cellars they encountered a well-dressed woman standing with her back to them.

“Adria?” Nathaniel asked cautiously. He sucked in a breath when the woman turned around, revealing her blackened skin and crazed eyes. “ _No_ ,” he whispered, “not her, please.” He turned to Gideon. “There must be something we can do.”

Gideon looked at him pityingly. “I’m sorry, Nathaniel.” His voice was gentler than Anders could ever recall hearing. “She’s—”

Before he had a chance to finish his sentence, the hideous creature that Nathaniel had once loved began to shriek. Anders fought the corpses that attacked with her, but he couldn’t bring himself to hit the woman, even if she was no longer human.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Nathaniel used his family’s ancient bow to shoot an arrow into the skull of the woman who had once meant more to him than his own mother. His face was creased with anguish as he looked down at her body.

Anders walked up beside him, not knowing what to say. He raised a hand to lay on Nathaniel’s shoulder, but dropped it at the last moment. He wasn’t sure if his attempts at comforting would be welcome right now. Nathaniel let out a choked sob before stepping over the ghoul’s body and leaving her behind him without a backwards glance.

The way ahead was completely blocked with rubble, so they had to turn back and return the way they’d come. Everyone was silent on the trip back through the cellars. Gideon stopped in the courtyard to talk with Voldrik about the blocked up passage. Nathaniel seemed to be in a daze as he went into the Keep.

Oghren interpreted correctly that their trip to Amaranthine was on hold yet again, and he tried to talk Anders into having a few pints of ale with him. But Anders was worried about Nathaniel. Declining the dwarf’s offer, he went up to Nathaniel’s room, assuming correctly that the man would have retreated there.

The door was open and Anders saw that Nathaniel was sitting on his bed, his hands laying uselessly in his lap and his eyes cast downward.

Anders cleared his throat softly. “Are you all right?”

Nathaniel looked up at him, his expression unreadable. Anders couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were shining. “I’m fine, Mage.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because if you want to talk about it . . .” he offered.

Nathaniel shook his head. “No, I—I’d just like to be alone for a bit.” He looked so lost.

Anders nodded at him. “All right,” he said quietly, “you know where I am if you change your mind.” He turned to leave.

“Anders,” Nathaniel’s voice was soft. “Thank you for the offer,” he managed a small smile. “I appreciate it.”

Anders smiled at him. “Anytime,” he said, gently, before closing the door quietly behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

Nathaniel was deep in thought as he set up his tent in the small clearing where Gideon declared they would spend the night. They were about half a day’s journey from Amaranthine, having finally been able to escape the Keep without further hindrance. Gideon’s dark mood had most likely been the reason that no one had approached the Commander for any assistance that morning.

The reason for Gideon’s bad mood could perhaps be blamed on Nathaniel, though there was hardly anything he could have done about it. On their way out of the Keep they had run across the old groundskeeper who had worked at the Keep for as long as Nathaniel could remember. The elf was a kindly man who had always had time for an inquisitive little boy who was often neglected by his own mother and father.

When he had first been told what had happened to his father, he had been so enraged that thoughts of the rest of his family had fled his mind.  While he had known about the passing of his mother, he had had no word about Thomas or Delilah.  He wasted no time asking Samuel what had happened to them.

Samuel explained that his brother had died during the Civil War that Loghain had engineered during the Blight. But his sister was still alive and living in Amaranthine—married to a _shopkeeper_ , of all things. Things must have been very hard indeed for her to marry someone so far beneath her station.  Nathaniel shuddered as he thought of what his sister had been forced to do just to survive after their father’s death.

Gideon had seemed uninterested in helping Nathaniel find Delilah in Amaranthine, and his mood had darkened after the encounter with Samuel. Not for the first time, Nathaniel found himself wondering what was going on inside the Commander’s head.

While they may not have been friends, Nathaniel and Gideon had known each other for years; their families had spent time with each other. Nathaniel had always gotten along with Fergus better than he had Gideon. Gideon had always acted indifferent to Nathaniel whenever the Howes visited the Couslands, completely opposite to Fergus.  Fergus was so easygoing and laid-back, friendly to everyone, which is what had drawn Nathaniel to him.

He quickly shut those thoughts from his mind. He wondered what Fergus was like now, after everything that had happened at Highever. _Damnit!_ If only Nathaniel had had a chance to speak with his father, to find out what had really happened.

Despite the fact that they had practically grown up together, Gideon and Nathaniel had barely spoken to each other since Nathaniel took his Joining.  Nathaniel still didn’t understand why Gideon hadn’t just sent him to the noose. He was grateful for that, of course, but he still wished he understood why Gideon had spared him.

Nathaniel wasn’t sure if he’d ever understand the other man completely.  On the one hand, he had taken great pains to explain as much as he could about what being a Warden truly meant: the few advantages, and the many disadvantages. He was being as honest and forthright as he could be, he had said. There had been no one to explain these things to him when he took his own Joining, and he would not allow any of his Wardens to suffer such ignorance.

Then, he had ended their discussion by saying that he didn’t really give much of a damn what Nathaniel thought of him. Gideon was the Warden-Commander, and Nathaniel was one of his men. So long as he was willing to accept that, everything would be fine between them.

In other words, follow orders . . . or else. A cheering thought.

A noise of frustration behind him startled him out of his dark thoughts. He turned to see the mage, Anders, struggling to put his tent up. He had managed to figure out how to place the middle pole and three of the pegs, but he was struggling with the last one.  Every time he stretched the canvas to set the peg, the middle pole would tilt to the point of almost falling down. Finished with his own tent, Nathaniel stood and watched the mage, wondering how he could possibly have such difficulty with something so simple.

Anders noticed Nathaniel watching him. “You know, while I’m sure watching me is just _fascinating_ for you,” he grunted as he pulled at the canvas, “it’d be a better use of your time, and mine, if you could actually help me out.”  Nathaniel walked over and tried to sort out the mess that Anders had created. Anders stood next to him, watching. “Normally, I don’t really need help getting it up, but . . .” he trailed off, grinning.

Nathaniel felt his cheeks redden as he caught Anders’ double meaning. He glared at the tent peg he was hammering into the ground, refusing to look at him. “Maker’s breath, Mage, do you flirt with everyone?”

Anders chuckled. “Not everyone. I don’t flirt with Oghren. Or Gideon, but that’s just because he scares the hell out of me.”

“Well, you’re wasting your time,” Nathaniel frowned, still not looking up. “I’m not like that.”

“Not like what?” Anders asked.

Nathaniel finished his work and stood up, finally looking at Anders. He knew his cheeks were still a little pink from embarrassment, but he tried to ignore it. “I don’t fancy men.” He spoke gruffly, hoping Anders would take the hint.

Anders raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. Finally he shrugged. “Suit yourself. Thanks for helping me with the tent.” He offered Nathaniel a friendly smile.

Nathaniel nodded curtly. “You’re welcome.” He hesitated, aware of the awkwardness that had settled between them. “Next time we camp, I’ll show you how to set it up properly.” He cast around for something else to talk about, but couldn’t think of a single thing. “I should go get some wood for the fire.” He walked away before Anders had the chance to say something about being able to help him with his wood, or something equally flirtatious. With any luck, the mage would give up on him, now that Nathaniel had made it clear that he wasn’t interested.

To Nathaniel’s dismay, Gideon seemed to have had the same idea as he had. He had noticed the man slip away from camp earlier, but hadn’t been sure where he’d gone to. Nathaniel found him a short way into the copse surrounding the clearing, wildly hacking the branches off of one of the trees. He had a fierce look on his face and he was grumbling something to himself, though Nathaniel couldn’t quite make out the words. He coughed discreetly so as not to surprise the man. Gideon’s head whipped around and he glared at the rogue.

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly.

Nathaniel decided a little friendliness was in order. “I thought I’d see if you need any help.”

Gideon motioned to the branches already lying on the ground before turning his back on Nathaniel and resuming cutting branches from the tree.  “You can start stripping those.”

Taking out his hunting knife, Nathaniel knelt on the ground and began stripping the branches of leaves and twigs. After some time had passed, Gideon, satisfied that he had accumulated enough wood, began helping Nathaniel. They worked in silence.  Nathaniel was not normally a talkative man, but for some reason, this silence grated on him.  He opened his mouth several times to speak, but no words would come. When he could stand the silence no longer, he blurted out, “I hope we’ll be able to find Delilah. In Amaranthine, I mean. Groundskeeper Samuel didn’t know the name of the man she married.”

Gideon said nothing as he continued working.

Nathaniel cleared his throat. “It will be good to see her after all this time, find out how she’s fared.” He chuckled quietly. “And I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you, even if our mothers _did_ fail at matching the two of you up.” Still, there was no response from Gideon.  Nathaniel was becoming more and more frustrated with Gideon’s refusal to make small talk with him. Maker, couldn’t they even have a conversation with each other? It hadn’t been like this before . . . but then again, nothing was like it had once been. The Blight had changed so many things.

“She and I were very close when we were children. She was always so gentle. There was this one time—”

Gideon made a noise of irritation. “Andraste’s arse, Nathaniel, I know who the woman is.  You needn’t keep going on about her.”

Nathaniel glared at the other man. “I’m sorry, is my being happy about seeing my sister again upsetting you?”

“Oh, no, not at all.” Gideon’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “I think it’s _wonderful_ that you’re going to be reunited with your sister. Absolutely _fantastic.”_ He tossed the cut branch onto the ground. “I’m sure it will be a touching moment for both of you.”

Nathaniel could feel his temper rising. “Now just one minute—”

Before he could continue Gideon grabbed up an armful of wood and headed toward the camp. Frowning, Nathaniel gathered up the rest and went after him.

Oghren was sitting on the ground near where the fire would be set, gutting the deer that Gideon had caught earlier. Nathaniel watched as he jumped when Gideon dumped the bundle of branches onto the ground, almost on top of the dwarf’s feet. “Hey, now! Watch where yer throwin’ that stuff.”

Nathaniel added his branches to the pile and turned on Gideon, glaring. “What the hell is going on?”

Gideon glared right back. “Are you really so stupid that you have to ask that question?”

Nathaniel grit his teeth. “You hate me. I get that. Whatever reason you had for saving me, it wasn’t because we’re friends. But why is the fact that I’m excited about seeing my sister again pissing you off so much?”

“ _Because I’ll never see_ my _sister again!_ ” Gideon roared.

 “What? You don’t have a—”

“My sister-in-law, Oriana. I’ll never see her again.” Gideon’s hands clenched into fists as he closed in on Nathaniel. “Just like I’ll never see my nephew, Oren, again. Or my best friend, Rory. Or my mother, or my father, or any of the dozens of other people who were in Highever Castle the night _your bastard father ordered his men to slaughter everyone there!_ ” Gideon’s usually impassive attitude had fled, replaced by a white-hot fury that threatened to burn everyone around him.

Nathaniel shook his head violently. He would not— _could not_ —believe that the rumors about his father were true.  Not even after all of the arguments they’d had when Nathaniel was younger.  His father had been a hard man, to be sure, but he hadn’t been a monster. “No. It—it wasn’t like that! My father was just . . . it was the middle of a war, for Andraste’s sake!” Out of the corner of his eye, Nathaniel saw Anders and Oghren standing nearby, unsure of what to do.

“What your father did to my family had nothing to do with the war,” Gideon had managed to reel his fury back, but only barely. “It was greed and jealousy that guided your father’s hand, nothing more.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “Your father allied himself with the Orlesians and set himself against Ferelden. What my father did might have been wrong, but he was trying to protect his country.”

“Protect his country?” Gideon stared at Nathaniel disbelievingly. “From who? Unarmed servants? Women and children? Oren was seven years old, and your father’s guards stuck a sword in his belly. They slit my sister-in-law’s throat. What in Andraste’s name made your father think he had to ‘protect his country’ from innocent people who had never harmed anyone in their entire lives?”

Nathaniel made a slashing motion with his hand.  “Well, thanks to you, we’ll never know the truth now.  _You_ stole into Denerim and murdered him!”  Why couldn’t Gideon understand that?

Gideon’s wrath was back as he stalked violently around the clearing. “If I could raise him from the dead and kill him again, I would in a heartbeat.  I will never forgive Rendon for what he did, never!”

Nathaniel saw Anders open his mouth, most likely to crack some idiotic joke about maleficar and raising the dead, but he wisely shut it again. The mage had a better sense of self-preservation that Nathaniel would have believed.

The situation was desperately out of control and Nathaniel tried to think of a way to defuse it before things grew even worse. He took several deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. “You have every right to hate my father for what happened. You lost your whole family. But I lost my family, too. Why is it so wrong for me to be happy that my sister is alive?”

“No Howe deserves to be happy,” Gideon said darkly. “Your father reserved an entire circle of hell for your family because of what he did during the Blight.”

Nathaniel clenched his jaw. “If you truly feel that way, why didn’t you just hang me?”

Gideon’s lips twisted into a mirthless smile. “Because death would be too easy for you. This way you get to see exactly what your father did, not just to me but to everyone else he hurt. Rendon Howe was a murderous, greedy, self-serving, sycophantic coward. You get to live with the shame of being his son.”

Nathaniel felt the anger boil inside of him. He would _never_ be ashamed of being a Howe. _Never_. “So I am to be punished for my father’s sins? For something I had no control over? How in the hell is that fair?”

Faster than even Nathaniel could track, Gideon was in front of him. “You _dare_ to talk to me about fair? You self-righteous, _insolent_ bastard! You are _just like your father!”_

Something inside Nathaniel snapped. All of the hatred and rage that he had felt towards this man, towards his father’s _murderer_ , could no longer be held back. With a loud shout he launched himself at Gideon. He barely felt Gideon’s retaliatory blows as he punched and kicked at the man before him. He pulled out every dirty trick he had learned while training as a rogue. When a particularly vicious right hook slammed into his mouth, the taste of blood spurred him to increase his attacks.

Suddenly he felt arms tighten around him from behind, pulling him away from Gideon. He fought against whoever had a hold of him, desperate to get back into the fight. It must have been Anders who was restraining him—Maker only knew how the mage managed the strength for that; magic perhaps. He watched as Oghren wrap his beefy arms around Gideon’s waist, practically pulling the much larger man off the ground. The two former nobles stood glaring at each other, sucking great lungfuls of air as they tried to calm down.

Gideon was the first to relax. Muttering that he was all right, he shook off Oghren’s hold on him and stalked off towards his tent. He called over his shoulder that Nathaniel and Anders would take the first watch.

Oghren looked from Gideon’s retreating form back to Nathaniel. He shrugged. “‘S’not my sodding battle,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “Think I’ll go see if I’ve got any of that ale left. I need a sodding drink.” He wandered off, leaving Nathaniel and Anders alone.

Nathaniel stood with his fists clenched, staring at the ground. He took several more deep breaths, fighting to calm himself. It was rare for him to lose his temper; years of training had taught him discipline and restraint. But Gideon’s words had caused him to forget all that he’d learned. Part of him still wanted to go tearing after Gideon and finish what they’d started.

Ignoring the pain racing through his body from his new bruises, Nathaniel gathered up the branches that had been scattered during their fight, deciding to start their fire and distract himself from the desire to beat Gideon senseless.  He winced in pain as he sat down, doing his best to stifle a groan. On top of the miscellaneous bruises and cuts he’d received, he had a pretty good feeling that at least one of his ribs was cracked. Gideon’s strength as a warrior meant his punch had much more force behind it than Nathaniel’s ever could.

He flinched as he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Anders crouched next to him. “Lift up your shirt.”

Nathaniel blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

Anders rolled his eyes. “Relax, Nathaniel. I’m not trying to seduce you.” He tugged at Nathaniel’s shirt. “You’re holding your side, which means something’s hurting you. I can’t heal you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Nathaniel scowled at him. “I don’t recall asking you to heal me.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “So you’d rather writhe around in agony instead?” He punctuated his words with a sharp jab to Nathaniel’s midsection, the sharp pain nearly causing him to pass out. “Ribs.” Anders nodded knowingly. Getting no more resistance from Nathaniel, Anders eased the rogue’s shirt far enough up his chest to assess the damage. There were several dark bruises covering his chest, the results of Gideon’s large fists pummeling into him.

Nathaniel sucked in a breath of air when Anders placed the palm of his hand against Nathaniel’s midsection. “Relax,” Anders murmured. The same blue light that had coursed from Anders’ fingers when he healed Nathaniel’s broken nose a few days ago was pulsing once again, straight into Nathaniel’s chest. He grunted as he felt the broken rib begin to mend itself. It was a strange sensation. He could actually feel the jagged edges of the bone realigning themselves.

He watched Anders’ hand in fascination as more and more of that blue energy pulsed into his body. His tensed muscles began to relax as the rest of his wounds were healed, his aches and pains melting away.

When Anders was finished, he fished around in the pouch at his waist and pulled out a bottle of what must have been lyrium. Nathaniel had heard about that—how mages who expended a great deal of their mana quickly were able to replenish it with lyrium mined by the dwarves and then distributed by the Chantry. He briefly wondered where Anders would get his supply from now that he was no longer part of the Circle of Magi.

A pointed look from Anders made Nathaniel realize he had been staring at the mage. “Thank you,” he said, his voice a little hoarse.

Anders smiled at him. “Not _all_ magic’s bad, you know. Some of it’s actually quite handy.” He sat down next to Nathaniel. “But, that doesn’t mean you can take advantage of my kindness by continuing to beat up on our illustrious Commander.”

Nathaniel felt himself tense again. He had lost control of himself, completely. And that was unforgiveable. _You must always be in control, Nathaniel_ —that was one of his father’s favorite litanies. _Loss of control is weakness, and I will_ not _tolerate weakness in this house. Do you hear me?_

He heard. He always heard.

He shook his head, angry with himself. “I shouldn’t have let him get to me like that.” He sighed. “I suppose I should go apologize to him.” He made to stand up.

Anders laid a hand on his arm. “Better leave it until morning. Give him a chance to cool off a little.”

Nathaniel nodded reluctantly. “I suppose you’re right.” He realized that his shirt was still rucked up, and hastily pulled it back down. He thought he heard a tiny snicker, but when he looked up, Anders’ face was carefully neutral.

Nathaniel spotted the deer carcass that Oghren had been tending to. He doubted anyone was interested in sitting down to a meal right now, but he couldn’t let it go to waste. He would divide the meat into good-sized chunks and smoke most of it. That way it’d keep longer. He cut off enough to roast for himself and Anders. After a moment’s hesitation, he added enough for Gideon and Oghren, too; they could eat it when they took their turn for watch.

Anders sat hugging his knees, watching Nathaniel work. “Were you and Gideon friends, growing up?” He asked.

Nathaniel shrugged. “Sort of. I was friends with his older brother, Fergus. Gideon was closer to Thomas’ age, but they spent as little time around each other as possible.” He grimaced, remembering the younger brother who had been so different from himself. “Gideon would tag along behind Fergus and me, to our great annoyance.” He smiled wryly. “He always tried to make it look like he had better things to do, but was willing to suffer our presence for the time being.”

Anders chuckled. “That sounds like something he’d do. I haven’t known him for long, mind you, but he seems pretty . . . stubborn.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

Tending to the carcass had accomplished at least one thing: focusing his energy on the difficult work had drained him of the remaining traces of his rage. He started the meat roasting and instructed Anders to watch it while he went to clean up. He took his time, and by the time he got back half an hour later, it was ready.

As they were eating, Nathaniel thought about the healing that Anders had performed. He’d never met a mage before, as there weren’t that many who lived outside the Circle. And the ones who did were apostates, dangerous to themselves and each other. At least, that’s what the Chantry said. He thought about how little he really knew of magic, and, despite himself, he found that he was actually a little curious. “Is it tiring?” he asked suddenly. “Casting spells, I mean.”

Anders looked up from his meal, an unreadable look on his face. “Sometimes,” he replied.  “Depends on how much mana I expend. Really serious injuries can be exhausting to heal, enough to make you pass out if you’re not careful.” He went quiet for a few moments. “I don’t mind, though,” he finally said.

Nathaniel looked at him questioningly. “Why not?”

“Because I like helping people. I like . . .” he paused, trying to find the right words. “I like feeling useful, I guess. Doing good.” He shrugged. “Magic is meant to serve man, right?” He sounded almost bitter when he spoke that last sentence.

“Why didn’t you offer to heal Gideon, then?”

Anders snorted. “Because I’m not suicidal. I doubt he’s in the mood to talk to anyone right now. If he needs healing in the morning, he’ll come to me.” He glanced over at the rogue. “And judging by some of the punches you got in, he’ll most likely need to beg some health poultices off of me at the very least.”

Nathaniel wished he hadn’t asked. He didn’t want to think about Gideon right now, nor did he want to think about all the words that had passed between them. Maybe it was foolish for him to continue defending his father. Maybe Gideon was right. But if Nathaniel allowed himself to believe that his father was capable of being that—that _monstrous_. . .

No. His father had his reasons for doing what he did. Nathaniel knew it. He couldn’t allow Gideon to get to him like this. If Gideon wanted to hate him, blame him for what happened to his family, fine. Nathaniel was just going to have to grit his teeth and bear it. Gideon was right. He was Nathaniel’s commander now, like it or not. He set aside the rest of his meal, no longer hungry.

Perhaps the noose would have been better after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a beta (huzzah!) Olndina is going to help me polish this thing up to a nice shine, and make sure I keep my punctuation abuse to a minimum.
> 
> _Revised 6/5/12_

The next morning, Nathaniel and Gideon carefully ignored one another while they broke camp. As Anders had predicted, Gideon had approached him just after breakfast for healing. He didn't look nearly as bad as Nathaniel had, but his right eye was swollen and his lip was split open.

Gideon had seemed reluctant to ask for his help, but Anders suspected it was more because of wounded pride than a distrust of magic. Gideon didn't seem to mind Anders' spellcasting. In fact, he was one of the few non-mages Anders had met who didn't flinch when Anders healed him. Which made sense when he thought about it: Gideon _had_ traveled with two mages for over a year during the Blight, and one of those mages had been his lover.  Anders wasn't used to people being tolerant of his magic. They tended to react much as Nathaniel did: with wariness and mistrust, yes, but sometimes with outright hostility.

Was that why Gideon had rescued him from the Templars, because he respected mages? He suspected it was more than that. Gideon didn’t do anything without some sort of ulterior motive. He shrugged; the reason didn’t really matter. If Rylock had gotten her hands on him, she almost certainly would have killed Anders. Maker knew, she had been itching for an opportunity to do so for some time. It had only been Irving's fondness for him that had kept him relatively safe. After seven escape attempts, however, he doubted he had any allies left in the Circle.

The way to Amaranthine was littered with pockets of darkspawn, so they had little time to talk while they were traveling. Anders eyed Nathaniel speculatively. The rogue was concentrating on scouting the way for them, so Anders had plenty of opportunity to observe him unnoticed.

Nathaniel was lithe and toned, strong. His black hair was swept back into two braids that were just begging to be unraveled. Anders wondered what the man would look like with his hair down, and how it would feel to run his fingers through it. The rogue was also incredibly good-looking. Anders chuckled to himself. Tall, dark, and handsome: a perfect description of Nathaniel Howe. He noticed once again that pride and nobility radiated from the rogue. His mannerism was just as attractive to Anders as his looks. Masculinity could be _very_ sexy.

His mind wandered back to the night before, when Nathaniel had helped him set up his tent. Maker, that had been a pain. It was definitely harder to make a mess of putting a tent up than it was to do it correctly. Still, it had been worth it for the chance to stare at Nathaniel's arse without being glared at or scolded. And letting Nathaniel "teach" him to put up a tent on their journey back might turn out to be fun. There might even be an opportunity to “accidentally” brush up against him while they were working on the tent together.

He shook his head, smiling. He still couldn’t believe that Nathaniel had fallen for it. Honestly, after so many escapes from the Circle, it would be amazing if he _didn’t_ know how to set up a tent. Not that he usually bothered with it when he was on the run; he preferred sharing someone else’s bed to camping outdoors.

It was their brief conversation when Nathaniel was setting up the tent that had Anders thinking now. Nathaniel had shut down Anders’ flirtations so firmly that it made him wonder who exactly the rogue was trying to convince of his disinterest in men: Anders, or himself?

He sped up his pace so that he was walking next to the rogue. “So, Nathaniel,” he began, “why don't you fancy men?”

Nathaniel appeared startled at Anders' abrupt question. “Because it's wrong.”

Anders thought about that for a minute. “Why?” he finally asked.

“What do you mean why? It's a sin. The Chantry says—”

“Nothing about the subject,” Anders interrupted. Nathaniel glanced at him skeptically. “It's true. There is nothing in the Chant of Light that says it's wrong for a man to be with another man. Or for a woman to be with another woman. In fact, when it comes to sex, Andraste was oddly silent. You kind of have to feel sorry for Maferath,” he smirked. "Being married to such a frigid woman must have been hard. D'you know, maybe _that's_ why Andraste went on a march against the Tevinters: she never had a good fu—”

“What in the Maker's name are you talking about?” Nathaniel interrupted.

Anders ignored him. “I wonder if she and the Maker have sex,” he mused.

Nathaniel made a noise of irritation. “Do you have a point, Mage?”

Anders shrugged. “I'm just saying that if religion is the only thing stopping you from bedding men, you're in the clear.”

“That's not . . . you're missing the point. Being with another man is wrong. It's unnatural. And perverted.”

“It can actually be quite pleasurable,” Anders replied. “Maybe you just haven't found the right man yet.”

Nathaniel's expression darkened. “I doubt that that's the problem.”

_Hmm . . . now_ that _was a statement definitely worth thinking about later_.  “So, what _is_ the problem?” Anders smiled mischievously. “You're not a eunuch are you?”

Nathaniel scowled at him, causing a tiny shiver of electricity to shoot through Anders. Maker, but the man was sexy when he scowled. “While I'm sure quite a bit of . . . deviancy . . . goes on amongst the mages in the Circle, normal people don't behave like that.”

Anders bristled at the 'normal people' remark. _Sodding nobles and their snobby ideas. He probably thinks mages really_ do _deserve to be locked up._ “Well,” he said coldly, “I'm glad I'm not normal then. It sounds like us 'deviants' have a lot more fun.” He dropped back a little and went to bother Oghren. At least the dwarf knew how to have a proper conversation: sarcastic remarks and witty retorts.

oOoOo

As the group of Wardens approached Amaranthine, Nathaniel’s eyes automatically strayed to the top of the walls surrounding the city. He remembered that they used to display the heads of traitors over the gate. He supposed he should be grateful that his father was at least spared that indignity.

Anders stopped suddenly, looking around him with a child-like smile on his face. He breathed deep. “Ah, can you smell that?” He turned to his fellow Wardens. “That is the smell of freedom.” He grinned. “Of course, there’s also the smell of dogs and dust, but the freedom is in there, too.”

Gideon raised an eyebrow. “The only thing I can smell is pie.”

Anders’ grin widened. “Exactly!” He inhaled deeply. “Maker, the fact that that there’s even pie nearby to smell is a miracle. I’ve led a pretty pieless existence up to now.” He sobered. “I escaped from the Tower seven times. The first couple of times they caught me, I just got a slap on the wrist and a long lecture about the need for mages to stay in the Tower. Then came the cozy little stays in solitary confinement—sometimes a few weeks, or even a month. But after the last time they caught me, they put me in there for a year.”

“A year?” Gideon asked, expressing the surprise that Nathaniel was feeling.

Anders shrugged. “I think they were running out of ways to keep me under control; any free passes I may have had I’d used up long ago. I was starting to become a liability to them.” He frowned. “You saw what Rylock was like. I have no doubt that she would have had me executed. All she would have had to do is tell everyone I became a maleficar. The fact that the Templars who were escorting me are all dead would have been all the proof she needed.”

Nathaniel looked at him skeptically. “The Circle can’t be _that_ bad.”

Anders turned to him, frowning. “The problem is that mages are tolerated. Barely. It's like we need permission to be alive. No matter how hard we try, we’ll never be able to prove our worth. Everyone needs to be protected from us, the end!” He slashed his hand downward, emphasizing his words.

No one spoke, unsure of how to react to Anders’ sudden agitation. Nathaniel was surprised at Anders’ accusations towards the Circle. He knew almost nothing of life in the Tower of Magi, and he wondered if Anders was speaking the truth, or if he was just exaggerating. But still, a _year_ in solitary confinement? That seemed much too harsh a punishment just for trying to escape.

Anders relaxed and let out a deep breath, his anger seeming to dissipate. “Never mind me. Now and again, I realize I'm not sitting in a cell and I have to smile.” A small smile _did_ ghost his lips, then, but Nathaniel couldn’t help thinking that it was a bit forced.

Gideon looked at him intently. It seemed as if he was about to say something to Anders, then apparently changed his mind. “Come on, let’s get going.” He beckoned them onward.

As soon as they passed through the gate, they were stopped by a rather nervous-looking guard. “Pardon me, ser. I need to search your packs.”

Anders sucked in a breath. “Uh, oh,” he murmured. The mage took a few steps back from the guard, as if to make sure he was out of the crossfire of Gideon’s anger. Nathaniel didn’t blame him.

Gideon looked at the guard searchingly. “No,” he finally replied. He moved to step beyond the guard, but was stopped short by a hand on his chest. Gideon looked down at the offending hand and back up at the guard. “I suggest you get your hand off me. Now.” His voice was mild, but it had an edge to it.

The guard took a few nervous steps backwards. “Standing orders, ser; we’ve had a lot of smuggled goods coming into the city lately.”

Gideon glared at the boy, obviously trying to hold his temper in. Luckily, a rather handsome young man approached just then. “What are you doing?” he asked the unfortunate guard. “Are you accusing the Commander of the Grey of smuggling?”

The poor man was stammering now; it was obvious that the guards here hadn’t been trained to make judgment calls. “B-but you said everyone—”

“That’s enough. You’re dismissed.” Waving away the guard’s salute, the young man turned to Gideon. “My apologies, Commander. We do our best, but the city’s practically been overtaken by smugglers and thieves.”

Gideon scowled at the man. “I’ve killed men for lesser offenses, you know.”

Anders let out a snort of laughter, but it quickly became apparent that Gideon wasn’t joking. Nathaniel looked to Oghren, but the dwarf just shrugged.

The young man looked to be at a loss as to how to reply. “Right. Well. I’m Aidan, Constable of Amaranthine. These smugglers have got us scrambling, to be honest—we just don’t have the manpower to deal with them. We really could use your help.”

Gideon nodded to the constable. “I’ve other things to attend to first, but I’ll come find you later.”

“Of course, Commander. Welcome to Amaranthine.”

Nathaniel was surprised to hear that Amaranthine had been overrun with criminals. He’d visited the city often as a boy, and he remembered it as being fairly peaceful. Crowded, and often noisy, but little crime to speak of.

Gideon turned to Anders and Nathaniel. “Go check out the Chanter’s board, see if there are any jobs we can do. We could use some coin if we’re going to reinforce the Keep to Dwynn’s standards.” He grimaced, most likely remembering the large sum of money he’d recently had to pay the dwarf.

Anders raised an eyebrow at Gideon. “Um, I don’t really think it’s a good idea for me to go to the Chantry right now.” He laughed nervously. “They might try to, you know, drag me back to the Circle kicking and screaming.”

Gideon shook his head. “You’re a Warden now. They don’t have any say over what you do anymore.”

“Yes, well, I’ll be sure to tell them that when they grab me.”

Gideon’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “Don’t worry. Nathaniel will keep an eye on you.” He turned his piercing gaze on Nathaniel. “Won’t you?”

Nathaniel grimaced. Just what he wanted to do—play nursemaid to a mage. “Of course, Commander,” he replied smoothly, keeping the irritation out of his voice.

Gideon nodded, satisfied. “Oghren and I'll go talk to . . . whoever the hell it is we came here to talk to.”

Oghren chuckled. “Good to see yer on top of things.” Gideon ignored him.

Anders and Nathaniel set off for the Chantry on the east side of the city. Nathaniel looked about him in wonder. The city had changed so much since he had last been here. It was larger, for one thing, yet it wasn't as crowded as it had once been. By the looks of the many houses that had been built in the years he'd been gone, this decline in population must have been a fairly recent occurrence. He would be interested to know what had happened—had the people fled, or was there something keeping them from getting to the city? They'd encountered a few darkspawn on the way, of course, but surely there were times that the roads were passable.

Anders had been acting coolly towards Nathaniel ever since their conversation earlier in the day. He felt a little bad about that. He hadn’t meant to be so scathing with his words, but Anders unnerved him. The way he asked such direct questions made Nathaniel feel as if the mage were trying to peer into his mind. And that was the last thing he wanted. Anders made him feel uneasy, and he wasn’t exactly certain why.

He wanted to say something to the mage to apologize, but he was afraid that he’d just make things worse. He seemed to have a talent for saying the wrong thing lately.

They made their way through the city in silence, Anders unwilling to speak and Nathaniel unable to. They were just about to ascend the steps leading up to the Chantry when Anders let out a noise of surprise. He grabbed hold of Nathaniel’s arm and pulled him into the shadow of a nearby tree. He stood behind Nathaniel, almost as if he was hiding. Just then, an elderly woman—a mage, by the robes she wore—came walking down the steps. She passed within a few feet of the two men, but didn’t seem to notice them.

Anders let out a sigh of relief as she passed out of sight. He seemed to realize he was still holding Nathaniel’s arm and quickly let go. “Sorry,” he said a bit sheepishly.

Nathaniel looked at him, bemused. “Do you know her?”

Anders nodded. “Wynne. One of the senior mages from the Circle.”

“Don’t you want to say hello?”

“Maker, no!” Anders scowled. “I hate that old bitch! She was always nagging at me, saying that I never take anything seriously enough.”

“ _No._ ” Nathaniel said in mock-surprise.

“Exactly!” Anders grinned at him, his eyes dancing with laughter.

Nathaniel found himself returning the smile. He couldn’t help it—the mage’s good humor was infectious, and he was glad that the breach between himself and Anders seemed to have mended.

Anders’ smile grew even wider. “I’m the most serious person I kn—well, the second most . . . no, I take that back. _No one_ could beat a nobleman for seriousness.” He winked at Nathaniel.

Nathaniel just shook his head, still smiling, as he ascended the steps to the Chantry. The smile faded from his face as he saw the statue of Andraste standing before the Chantry doors.

“It figures,” he said grimly.

“What?” Anders came up behind him.

“There used to be a different statue here. It was of my great-uncle, Byron Howe. He died in the rebellion, helping King Maric reclaim his throne. They must have taken it down, just because of what my father did.” His brows drew together.

Anders cleared his throat. “Well, you know, I’m sure they meant well . . .” He sounded a little apologetic.

Nathaniel laughed bitterly. “Yes, I’m sure they did.” He shook his head sadly. “The Howes have been around since Calenhad. There’s a long line of heroes in my family, but no one remembers that now. Everything my family built is gone. And for what?” He frowned. “For being on the wrong side of the war, for choosing poorly.”

“Well, then,” Anders clapped him on the back, “it’s up to you to turn that around.”

Nathaniel looked at him in surprise. He had expected the mage to argue with him as Gideon had the night before. He gave a small chuckle. “Not too much pressure, right?”

Anders flashed him a lopsided smile. “Of course not! It’ll be easy.”

Nathaniel looked back at the still figure of Andraste. “I wonder what happened to it.” He laughed mirthlessly. “With the way my family’s treated now, it’s probably propping up the side of some run-down old barn.” He turned away in irritation. “It doesn’t really matter, what’s done is done.”

He saw the notice board on the wall of the Chantry and they went over to examine it. There were several jobs available, and Anders began pulling down the ones that looked promising. Nathaniel caught sight of the word ”maleficar” on one of the notices still on the board. “Look at this one, nice reward for it.”

Anders glanced up from the papers he was rifling through. His lips moved as he scanned the notice. Eyes widening, he moved to rip it off the board, but Nathaniel was too fast for him.

“Give it here,” Anders said, his voice tense. “We’ve got to get rid of it before anyone else sees it.”

Nathaniel looked at him in surprise. “Why? All they want us to do is question some mages.”

Andes laughed bitterly. “Question them. Right. That’s Templar-speak for ‘find and kill the supposed maleficars.’”

“Well, if they are maleficars then they have to be stopped,” Nathaniel reasoned.

“ _Accused_ maleficars,” Anders replied shortly. “I know this is going to come as a surprise to you, but Templars don't always tell the truth.” His eyes narrowed. “They want _all_ mages under their thumb, and they're more than willing to do anything to get us back, even if it means falsely accusing someone of using blood magic.”

“And if these mages really are using blood magic?” Nathaniel asked doggedly. “Could you live with the fact that they might harm others?”

“So we should kill them 'just in case’?” Anders glared at him. “You want us to kill innocent people whose only crime is being born?”

Nathaniel sighed. “Anders, it doesn’t say anything about killing them. I think you’re overreacting.”

Anders ignored him. “None of us chooses to be a mage. It's just who we are. An evil person is going to do horrible things whether they’re a mage, or a rogue, or—or a Templar.” He started pacing. “Mages are people, like everyone else. Some of us are good, and some of us are bad. It has nothing to do with us being able to cast spells.”

“But the magic is dangerous,” Nathaniel tried to explain.

Anders stopped and pointed to the longbow strapped to Nathaniel’s back. “Magic’s no more dangerous than your bow. Or Gideon's sword. It's a weapon, like any other. The only danger lies in the person who wields it, and mages are no more inherently wicked than any other person.”

“But we can put down our weapons; mages can't.”

Anders threw up his hands in exasperation. “Forget it. It's useless trying to explain it to you. You're just like everyone else. 'Magic is a curse,’” he spat. “A punishment from the Maker for some unnamed sin that we may or may not have committed. Believe whatever you want to, but I am _not_ going to let you and Gideon murder these people.” He stood there defiantly, his body tensed as if he were preparing himself for a battle.

Nathaniel stared at him for a long moment before carefully and deliberately crumpling up the notice and pitching it into a nearby shrub.

Anders let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Come on,” Nathaniel said, taking the notices that Anders had been holding. “We should get back to Gideon.”

Nathaniel was surprised by Anders’ vitriolic reaction to the notice. He seemed to think that any Templar looking for a mage was doing so for nefarious reasons. It seemed natural that mages and Templars wouldn’t get along—the Order of Templars was, after all, created to keep mages in line. But Anders’ anger seemed to speak of something deeper.

They found Gideon and Oghren in the Market District, talking to Constable Aidan. Gideon finished his conversation with the man and came over to them. “We’ve got a few leads,” he said. “There’s some trouble in the Wending Woods with caravans being attacked. One of the merchants told us there’s parts of the Pilgrim's Pass that can't even be traveled anymore without fear of being attacked.” He tapped a scroll he had tucked under his belt. “And we managed to get a map of that area in the Knotwood Hills where those fellows ran into that big group of darkspawn. Apparently there’s a big chasm there. What about you two?”

Nathaniel glanced at Anders before answering. “There wasn’t much.” He handed the notices to Gideon. “Just a couple of errands to run.”

Gideon nodded. “We’ll go check the inns and try to find that Orlesian Warden, Kristoff. We’ll spend the night here, and then in the morning we can take a look at the smuggler situation, and take care of these errands.”

Nathaniel nodded his head. “That's sounds good. I—” He noticed a dark-haired woman standing at one of the market stalls. “Delilah?”

The woman looked away from the girl she had been talking to. “Nathaniel!” Her face broke into a huge grin. She hurried away from the stall and enveloped her brother in a huge hug. Her eyes were shining when they finally separated. “Thank the Maker,” she said. “I've been so worried about you.”

Nathaniel smiled at her. “I'm fine, Delilah. But you . . .” He frowned as he took in her clean but plain dress, her calloused hands, and the tiny shop that seemed to be her livelihood. “I know times have been hard since the war, but you can do better than this.” He thought for a moment before coming to a decision.  “Come back to the Keep with us; you can stay there until we can find somewhere more appropriate for you.”

Delilah looked at him in surprise before she started laughing. “Nathaniel, I’m not here out of desperation. I have a good life here, a good husband.” Her eyes softened. “I’m with him because I love him, not because I’ve nowhere else to go.”

Nathaniel stood there, uncertain of what to say. It was hard to believe that the confident, happy woman standing before him was his baby sister. He remembered the little girl in pigtails who used to beg Nathaniel to come and have tea parties with her dolls.

She finally noticed the rest of Nathaniel's companions. Her eyes settled on Gideon and she gasped in surprise. “ _Gideon?_ ”

Gideon offered her a tight smile. “Hello again, Delilah. It's been a long time.”

She took a step toward her childhood friend. “Gideon, I am so sorry for what happened. What my father did was terrible, unforgiveable.” She shook her head sadly. “I thank the Maker every day that I’m finally free from his evil.”

“Evil?” Nathaniel was shocked to hear his sister talk about their father like that. “Isn't that overstating it a little? He was wrong, certainly, but he wasn't _evil_.”

Delilah looked at him pityingly. “You weren't here, Nathaniel. You didn't see what he did. You want to know who destroyed our family? It was him, without a doubt.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “No, that's not true. He was a hard man, but—”

“He was more than that, and you know it. You always worshipped father. You never wanted to see what he was really like." She looked over at the others. "This isn’t the place to talk about these things. Come and see the house, and we can catch up.” She smiled at him.

Nathaniel looked over at Gideon, silently asking permission. Gideon nodded to him. “Go on, we'll get our shopping done while you're gone.”

“Thank you.”

Delilah said a few quiet words to the girl at the stall and then beckoned to him. “My house is just around the corner.” She led them down a side street to a tiny house that sat right at the end. It looked much like all the other houses on the street, but it was well-kept. She ushered them inside. “It's small, I know. But it works well enough for us.” She turned to him with a small smile on her face, clearly looking to him for approval. He looked around the room they were in. It was indeed small: a kitchen, dining room, and sitting room all rolled into one. The worn wooden table had been freshly scrubbed, and there were gingham curtains hanging in the windows. Pots and pans and dishes were stacked neatly on the sideboard, and the bench near the hearth had a multi-colored quilt draped over it. This wasn't just a house. It was a _home_. And one that was well-loved.

Nathaniel smiled warmly at his sister. “It's very nice.”

She beamed at him. “Sit down, sit down.” She gestured to the table as she went to the sideboard to grab a pitcher and a couple of mugs. “So,” she said as she sat down across from him, “what in Thedas are you doing with Gideon Cousland?”

He grimaced. “It's a long story. The shortened version is that I'm a Grey Warden now, and he's my commander.”

“A Grey Warden!” Delilah exclaimed. “Well, that's a fine turn of events.” She grinned at him as she filled their cups with apple cider.

Nathaniel took a sip of the sweet drink before setting the mug back on the table. His expression turned serious. “Tell me about Father. What happened?”

Delilah looked at him searchingly. “Do you really want to know?”

_No_. Nathaniel nodded his head. “Tell me.”

Delilah took his hands in hers and began to speak. He listened first with dismay and then horror as she recounted their father’s actions during the Blight: the massacre at Highever; the elves in the Alienage sold into slavery; the kidnapping of Queen Anora; and the employment of an Antivan Crow to assassinate the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden.

When she finished, Nathaniel was almost shaking with the pain and grief that wracked him. “I… I had no idea,” he said. “I thought he had his reasons, that everyone was blaming him for what happened just because he was on the wrong side of the war.”

Delilah looked at him sadly. “You’ve spent your whole life defending his actions, Nathaniel. Even after all the times he hurt you, you still refused to accept that he was an evil, hateful man.” She held his hands even tighter.

“Make no mistake, Nathaniel. Father deserved to die.” Delilah’s voice had an edge to it Nathaniel had never heard. “If he’d been put on trial for his crimes, he would have been executed anyway. Gideon probably gave him a better death than he deserved.”

Nathaniel pinched his eyes shut. “I feel like such a fool. All I ever wanted was to be like him. How could I not have seen?”

“Because you wanted what every little boy wants: for his father to be a hero.” She looked at him fondly. “I cried and cried the day you left for the Free Marches. I was heartbroken that you were leaving me.” Nathaniel smiled at her. “But I was also glad you were going. If you’d stayed under Father’s thumb, you might have become just like him. I’m not the only one who’s free of him now. You are too. You have the chance to be whoever you want, without Father telling you who you _should_ be. Take this chance, I beg you.”

Nathaniel looked at her for a long time. There was so much to take in. Delilah was right—Nathaniel _had_ worshipped his father, and he’d forgiven the man for every time he had whipped or struck Nathaniel. He knew in his heart that he had deserved his punishments, for those were lessons that needed to be taught. But this, this was something else entirely. This was not a man disciplining his son for doing wrong—this was a man torturing and murdering innocent people.

Guilt and shame washed over him as he realized how he’d behaved toward Gideon. He had to make things right, atone for his father’s sins. That was the only way that he could make the Howe name great again, and find peace for his family.

He ignored the tears stinging his eyes as he smiled at his sister. “All right,” he said quietly. “I’ll take it.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to my beta, Olndina, even if she _does_ think I'm a cock-tease.

It was a changed man who met up with them in the market, Anders could see that right away. Nathaniel, who was always so serious and reserved, seemed even more subdued than usual. Gideon eyed the rogue warily as Nathaniel approached him. Nathaniel opened and closed his mouth several times before finally shaking his head. Wordlessly, he held out his hand to Gideon.

“I owe you an apology,” he finally said, his voice quiet. “For many things, it seems.”

Anders feared that Gideon wasn’t going to return the gesture, but he finally took Nathaniel’s hand and briefly shook it. There was a faint smile of satisfaction on Gideon's face before he turned back to the weapons stall where he had been browsing.

Nathaniel finally noticed Anders. “You’re wearing different robes.” Anders could have sworn he saw a flash of appreciation on the rogue's face, but it was gone before he could tell for sure.

Anders grinned at him. He couldn’t help turning around to show off his new—clean—robes. “You like them? I’ve been wearing the old ones for weeks. As soon as Gideon got them for me, I nipped down a side alley to change.”

Nathaniel's cheeks flushed. “You changed your clothes . . . _outside_?”

“Well, not _in front_ of anyone.” Anders' mouth ran on before he could stop it, “Though I certainly wouldn’t have minded being caught.”

Nathaniel frowned as he shook his head, but Anders caught the tiniest glint of mirth in the rogue’s expressive eyes.

“So,” Anders continued his stroll through the market with Nathaniel beside him. “How did it go with your sister?”

Nathaniel seemed to think about that for a moment. “It was hard hearing about my father, about what he did during the Blight.” He shook his head. “It’s still difficult for me to believe all that.”

Anders didn’t reply. He had heard bits and pieces of Rendon Howe’s actions during the Blight, and Gideon had filled him in on the rest. He had a hard time believing that a man capable of committing so many evil deeds within a single year would have been a saint before then.

“And what about your sister? She looked happy.”

Nathaniel’s face brightened. “She is. I’ve never seen her so content. She wants me to come back once all this is over and meet her husband. And she’s with child—she’s due sometime in the spring.”

“She’s very pretty,” Anders said absentmindedly.

Nathaniel scowled at him. “Don’t go getting any ideas.”

Anders laughed good-naturedly. “Don’t worry, Nathaniel. I may be many things, but I’m not a home-wrecker. Besides, she’s not my type.”

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “And just what is your type?”

Anders smiled at him playfully. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Maker, he really needed to stop flirting with Nathaniel. One of these times, the rogue was going to haul off and hit him. He couldn't help himself though; Nathaniel was just too much fun to tease.

Nathaniel rolled his eyes, though he didn't seem particularly angry. “Forget I asked.”

oOoOo

Finding where Kristoff had been staying was surprisingly easy. Captain Garavel hadn’t been sure where exactly the Orlesian Warden was, other than that he’d headed to Amaranthine. It made sense he would be staying at one of the inns there, and as The Crown and Lion was the biggest, Gideon decided they’d start the search there.

Oghren ordered drinks for all of them while Gideon spoke with the innkeeper. Gideon joined them at the table a few minutes later and set an iron key down on the table. “Well, it seems Kristoff was here, but apparently he's skived off, hasn't been seen for over a week now.”

Anders took a sip of his ale, grimacing a bit at the taste. He didn’t have a whole lot of experience with drinking, but he suspected that well water had more alcohol in it than this swill. He'd seen a few bottles of Antivan Brandy behind the bar. Perhaps he could persuade Gideon to get one for the trip home.

He smiled flirtatiously at the waitress who came round to refill Oghren’s mug, and was pleased to see her cheeks flush. As she returned to the kitchen, she looked back over her shoulder at him and winked. He pulled himself away from thoughts of lush breasts when he realized Gideon was talking to him. “Sorry, what was that?”

Gideon’s expression was half amused, half annoyed. “I said, we should go check out Kristoff's room, see if we can find anything that'll tell us where he went to.”

“Ah, right. Good idea. I'll, uh, I'll just wait here for you,” Anders said distractedly, as he looked at the door to the kitchen. “You don't really need all of us to go, right?”

Gideon cast him a stern look. “Just be sure you behave yourself.”

Anders grinned at him. “Now, where's the fun in that?”

He heard Nathaniel mutter something about being incorrigible as he and Oghren followed Gideon upstairs. He waited until the others were gone before getting up from the table and sauntering over to the kitchen. He cracked the door open a tad and stuck his head in. He was delighted to see that the girl was alone. He took a moment to admire how tightly her corset was laced and how short her skirt was.

He advanced into the room and wrapped his arms around her waist. He tipped his head down and captured her lips in a kiss as he gently massaged one of her plump breasts.

The girl pulled back a little, breathless from their kiss. “Why don't you meet me back here later, and we can have some fun.” She smiled at him seductively. “I get off at midnight.”

Anders grinned as he leaned forward and nibbled at her ear. “I can get you off right now, if you'd like.” She giggled as he squeezed her backside, his other hand still on her breast.

“Anders!” He heard Gideon's voice call out from the main room.

 _Damnit._ Trust the Commander to pick the perfect time to interrupt him.

Anders sighed in frustration. “Another time, my lady.” He placed a quick kiss on the girl's cheek, grinning again as her lips curved into a delicious pout.

Gideon smirked at him as he came out from the kitchen. “Having fun?”

“I _was_ ,” Anders grumbled. “Find anything useful in Kristoff's room?”

Gideon sat back down at their table. “We went through his stuff. It looks like he was headed towards a place called the Black Marsh.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “That doesn't sound like a very inviting kind of place.”

“True, but he's the best lead we have for finding out what's going on with the darkspawn.” He rubbed tiredly at his face. “It’s getting late. We’ll stay here tonight. Oghren and I’ll take Kristoff’s room, and you two can share another one.”

Nathaniel frowned. “Commander, is it really necessary for Anders and me to share a room? Surely they have more than enough rooms for us all. It doesn't look like there's much business right now.”

Gideon made a noise of irritation. “I'm not going to waste good coin so everyone can have his own room. It’s just for one night. Of course, if you’d rather bunk with Oghren, be my guest.” Gideon smirked at him. “If I remember correctly from when we were children, you’re a light sleeper—but Oghren’s snoring shouldn’t bother you _too_ much.”

“All right, all right.” Nathaniel held up his hands in surrender.

Anders tried not to be annoyed by how quickly Nathaniel protested the sleeping arrangements. Honestly, it wasn't like he was going to ravish the man in his sleep. This _did_ put a crimp in his plans for the evening, however, as there was no way he was going to be able to bed that pretty little waitress with Nathaniel in the same room. He tried to hide his smile as he imagined asking Nathaniel if he’d like to join them. He didn’t fancy dying just yet, though.

Anders was getting ready for bed in their shared room when Nathaniel made a strangled noise. “Maker's breath, Mage, what are you doing?”

He looked at Nathaniel in confusion. “What does it look like I'm doing? I’m getting ready for bed.” He finished folding his new robes and set them neatly on a nearby chair.

Nathaniel’s cheeks were pink. “Do you always sleep naked?”

“Of course I do. What am I supposed to wear, my robes?” He smirked. “If you don’t like it, don’t look.”

Nathaniel glared at him, but turned around without saying anything else. Anders had a strong desire to watch the man undress, but he didn't think that would go over very well. Very little that Anders did seemed to go over well with the broody rogue. He shook his head as he settled between the crisp sheets and fell asleep almost immediately.

oOoOo

Several hours later, he became aware of a warm body pressed up against him. He opened his eyes to the sight of Nathaniel nuzzling at his neck. He grinned—he knew the rogue would give in sooner or later. He gasped in pleasure when Nathaniel bit gently at his neck. He felt the rogue's hot breath in his ear as Nathaniel whispered into it.

“I want you, Anders.” Nathaniel's voice was like coarse velvet. “I can't stop thinking about you, thinking about touching you, tasting you—” he ran his tongue along the shell of Anders’ ear—“ _fucking_ you.” Anders moaned when Nathaniel grasped his quickly stiffening length. He tried to kiss the other man, but couldn't quite seem to manage it. Nathaniel shimmied down his body and suddenly he felt wet heat surrounding his cock. Anders whined in pleasure as Nathaniel swallowed more and more of his length. Nathaniel's tongue played along his length as he started bobbing his head. Sooner than he would have preferred, Anders felt himself nearing his peak. Almost there . . . _almost there_ . . .

His eyes flew open, and the sensation of Nathaniel's lips wrapped around him vanished. He took several sharp breaths as the blood continued pounding in his ears, and he realized he was in bed alone. By the faint sliver of moonlight that shone through the window, he could see that Nathaniel was still in his own bed, fast asleep. Anders sighed—sometimes he really hated the Fade. It wasn't always easy for a mage to tell what was real and what wasn't; somewhere, there was probably a desire demon laughing its arse off at him. _Temptation, thy name is Nathaniel_. He chuckled quietly.

He thumped his pillow a couple of times to get more comfortable and tried to get back to sleep, which turned out to be more difficult than he'd hoped. His dream had had quite an effect on him, and he found that he was extremely aroused. He fidgeted for a bit longer, trying in vain to ignore his erection. It was no use, though; he was just too tense. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked across the room at Nathaniel. He seemed to be asleep—at least his eyes were closed. Anders debated for a little longer before finally giving in to his desires.

Lying back down onto the bed, he trailed his hand slowly down his stomach before wrapping his fingers around his length. Taking a firm grasp, he began slowly stroking himself.

Nathaniel’s face danced behind his closed eyes, but it didn’t seem right to use images of his fellow Warden to pleasure himself—mostly because said Warden was mere feet away from him. He thought of the buxom waitress whom he’d met up with earlier. He tried to envision running his lips over her creamy skin, burying his face in those full breasts that practically spilled out of the top of her bodice.

Nope, nothing. He sighed in frustration. All right, what about Gideon? He might be more than a little intimidating, but he was still attractive. He thought of Gideon’s broad shoulders, his strong hands . . . he let out another frustrated sigh. Still nothing.

Hesitantly, he imagined Nathaniel practicing his archery, clad in his leather armor—no, topless, with tight leather breeches accentuating the curves of his backside. His cock gave a twitch of appreciation. Nathaniel standing out in the sun on a hot day, the sweat running down his bare chest in rivulets: _oh yes . . ._ that's _more like it._ He tightened his grip and quickened his pace as he pictured himself dipping his tongue into the rogue’s navel and lapping up the salty sweat pooled there. 

He bit at his lip to keep from moaning too loudly; having spent his adolescent years in a dormitory full of other young men, he was experienced in doing this without making too much noise (unless he _wanted_ someone to hear him), but he couldn’t stop the occasional gasp as he began stroking himself harder.

 His mind’s eye watched as he loosened Nathaniel’s breeches and reached inside to grasp the other man’s length. His strokes came faster as he imagined suckling at the tip of Nathaniel’s erection, running his lips up and down that hot length. Unable to contain a groan of pleasure, he buried his face in the crook of his free arm. It took all the self-control he had to keep from crying out Nathaniel’s name as he climaxed, spilling his seed onto his stomach.

Anders blinked a few times as he tried to regain his senses. Maker, this was ridiculous. What had started out as mere attraction was obviously turning into an obsession. There were plenty of people out there for Anders to dally with, ones who would welcome his advances, unlike Nathaniel. So why was he being constantly plagued by thoughts of the rogue, even in sleep?

Maybe it was just a matter of wanting what he couldn’t have. Anders perked up at that thought—of course, that's all it was. He sighed in relief. The best plan of action would be to stop flirting with Nathaniel completely and focus his efforts on people he actually had a chance with.

He looked down at his stomach and noticed the mess he had made. He grabbed the spare blanket at the foot of the bed and used it to clean himself before shoving it under the covers. His body relaxed from his release, he turned on his side and slipped into the Fade once more. If he had been thinking clearly, he might have remembered Gideon's words about how Nathaniel was a light sleeper. As it was, he didn’t remember, nor did he notice the slate grey eyes that were watching him intently as he drifted off to sleep.

oOoOo

When Anders awoke the next morning, Nathaniel was already gone, his bed neatly made. He wandered down to the common room and found his fellow Wardens enjoying a large breakfast. As he joined them, he noticed Nathaniel watching him, an unreadable expression on his face. When he caught Anders looking at him, he quickly glanced away.

They were just leaving the inn when a familiar-looking woman brushed past Anders, headed in the opposite direction. He caught her arm. “Namaya? You're still here?” He looked at her in disbelief. “I figured you would have left by now.”

Namaya scowled at him. “Of course I'm still here. Unlike you, _I_ keep my promises.”

He ignored the snort of laughter coming from the vicinity of Oghren. “Well, did you find anything out? About, you know”—he lowered his voice—“the cache.”

She nodded. “It's here, just like you thought.”

Anders breathed a sigh of relief. _Finally._ “Do you know where?”

“There's a warehouse at the south end of the market, just past the weaponsmith’s.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Anders pulled her into a big hug. “ _You_ are an angel.” He released her and gave her a peck on the forehead.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Just remember, we're even now.”

Anders nodded in agreement. “Absolutely.” He couldn't help but admire the view as she walked away from him, hips swinging. He turned around and noticed Gideon watching him intently. “Ah, yes. I suppose that requires some explanation.”

Gideon smirked. “Friend of yours?”

Anders grinned. “You could say that. She's the reason I came to Amaranthine, actually. She was looking into something for me. See, the Templars thought I came here to take a ship to the Free Marches, but I was actually looking for my phylactery. You do know what a phylactery is, right?”

Gideon nodded. “It’s a vial of your blood, isn’t it? The Templars can use it to track you.”

“Exactly. Normally they're housed in the Chantry in Denerim. But during the Blight they were moved. Namaya found out that they'd been moved here, so she came on ahead to scout the city for me, see if she could find out exactly where the Templars are storing them.”

“And what did she mean about the two of you being even now?” Gideon asked.

“She, uh, owed me a favor.” Anders chuckled. “See, there was this one time that we—”

Oghren grunted. “Keep it to yerself, Sparklefingers.”

Anders turned back to Gideon. “You know how the Templars treat us mages. As long as they have my phylactery, I'll never be free of them. I need to destroy it.”

Nathaniel finally spoke. “If these phylacteries are that important, a vacant warehouse doesn't seem like a particularly secure place to store them. It could be an ambush.”

Anders shrugged. “I still have to try. I can't pass up this chance. Now that the Blight's over, the phylacteries could be returned to Denerim any day now. And I've no chance of stealing it out from under the Revered Mother's nose.”

He looked at Gideon pleadingly. “Please, Commander. I know we’re busy with other things, but if we could just go look . . .”

“Of course we’ll look.” Gideon responded immediately, surprising Anders. He’d expected an argument, or at least some resistance to the idea. “It isn’t right that the Chantry can control mages like that,” Gideon said. “If we do find the phylacteries, we’re destroying all of them, not just yours.”

Anders chuckled. “I won’t say no to that.”

They made their way through the city to the far side of the market. “This must be it.” Anders pointed to a large building abutting the city wall. Tools in hand, Nathaniel moved forward to pick the lock on the door, only to find that it was already unlocked. He looked pointedly at Anders. “This doesn’t bode well.”

Anders looked to Gideon, hoping that the Commander wouldn’t change his mind. Gideon shrugged. “We may as well check it out. Just be on your guard.” Nathaniel nodded as he opened the door, ushering the others inside.

The huge main room was empty, save for a few crates and boxes; there weren’t nearly enough to store all of the phylacteries that Anders knew existed. Still, they went through all of them, just in case. They came up with a few fairly decent pieces of armor—including some nice gloves and boots that Anders quickly claimed—but no phylacteries.

Oghren pointed to a door on the far wall. “In there, maybe?” Gideon strode towards the door, the others close on his heels. At first sight, the small room looked just as empty as the main one. Then Anders heard a soft clicking sound as the door behind them was closed.

A woman’s voice came from the shadows. “And here I thought the infamous Anders might not take the bait.”

 _Rylock._ Anders threw his hands up in disgust. “Of course. I should’ve known it’d be _you_.” He glared at her as she emerged from the shadows where she had been waiting. “Honestly, do you not have anything better to do than to chase after me?”

Gideon put his hand on his still-sheathed sword. “What are you doing here, Rylock?”

“I’m here to make sure this murderer pays for his crimes.”

Anders stared at her in disbelief. “What? No, you can’t do that! I’m a Grey Warden now; King Alistair allowed my conscription.”

Rylock looked at him smugly. “The Chantry supersedes the Crown in this matter.”

Gideon was not impressed. “And the Wardens supersede the Chantry. We can conscript anyone we want, including mages.”

“You may be the ‘Hero of Ferelden,’” Rylock sneered, “but the Grey Wardens don’t hold as much power here as you think. Now hand him over!”

Gideon looked at her as if she was a piece of garbage stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “No.”

She snarled. “Then you die with him!” She drew her sword as two more Templars emerged from their hiding places behind the door.

A wave of nausea washed through Anders as he felt his mana being drained. _Fucking Templars!_ He ignored the weakness in his limbs and shrugged his staff off of his back. He may not be able to use it for casting magic, but it was still a formidable weapon in its own right. He felt disoriented and a little dazed as he always did after a draining, but he could see Gideon and Oghren fighting the two Templars who had accompanied Rylock. Nathaniel was nowhere to be seen—he’d most likely melted into the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to strike from behind.

He suddenly caught sight of Rylock rushing him, sword raised. He raised his staff just in time to block the blow, but the force pushed him backwards. Rylock advanced on him until he was pinned against the wall, the point of her sword pressed against his throat. He felt a thin trickle of blood run down his neck as the Templar pushed a bit harder,  only just puncturing his skin.

“Idiot,” Rylock hissed. “You should know by now that you can never truly escape the Circle.”

Suddenly, Rylock's eyes opened in surprise. She gasped, and blood bubbled up out of her mouth. The sword that had been moments away from ending his life fell from her slack fingers. He watched as she crumpled to the ground. He looked up to see Nathaniel standing there, blood dripping from his dagger.

Nathaniel was staring down at the Templar's lifeless body with contempt. “And you should know never to leave your back unguarded.”

Anders giggled, a touch of hysteria in his voice. The shock of almost dying at the Templar’s hand was causing him to come undone a little. His legs finally gave out and he slid downwards against the wall.

Nathaniel looked at him with concern. “You’re hurt.”

Anders blinked at him up at him. “I am?”

Nathaniel knelt down and lightly touched Anders’ neck. When his hand came away, his fingers were smudged with blood. “You should heal yourself.”

Anders shook his head. “Can’t yet. No mana.”

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t see you cast any spells.”

Anders chuckled wryly. “I never got a chance to. The damned Templars drained me.”

“Drained you?”

“Templars have the ability to drain mana. That’s how the bastards fight mages.” He gave Nathaniel a weak smile. “I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

“Here.” Gideon tossed Anders a lyrium potion he’d found on one of the Templars. Anders quickly downed it and healed himself.

Seemingly satisfied that Anders was all right, Nathaniel stood up and extended his hand. Anders took it and allowed the rogue to pull him to his feet. “Thanks,” he smiled at Nathaniel.

Nathaniel’s lips quirked into a smile. “Anytime.”

Anders cleared his throat and looked away, hoping the other man wouldn’t notice the faint blush that suffused his cheeks.

“Come on,” Gideon said to them. “Let’s get out of here before anyone else tries to kill us.”

Anders nodded in agreement. As far as he was concerned, they couldn’t get out of there soon enough.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My undying love to Olndina for her awesome beta work on this (you can thank her for the fantastic opening line). And a big hug to FantasyFiend09 for being such a great ideas-bouncer.

Nathaniel knelt down on the ground next to Anders as he instructed the other man on proper tent erection, and, Maker, he’s thankful he hadn’t called it that.  _Anders would have had a field day!_ Working on the tent together brought Nathaniel far closer to the mage than he was comfortable with. He felt jumpy, on edge. Every time Anders’ hand brushed against his, while they were stretching the canvas or adjusting the tent pegs, Nathaniel’s skin tingled.

The third time he dropped a tent pole, he stood, no longer able to stand the closeness, making the excuse that Anders would learn more quickly if he did the work himself.

Nathaniel had expected a snarky comment from Anders, perhaps about Nathaniel’s inability to get it up, but to his surprise, Anders actually looked relieved.  Anders’ abnormal behavior was unsettling, but now that he came to think about it, Anders hadn’t flirted with him all day. Since the day they had met, Anders had taken every opportunity he could to get under Nathaniel’s skin. Anders’ restrained behavior was unprecedented, and Nathaniel wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about this change in the mage’s personality.

It had something to do with that woman, Rylock. Anders had been badly shaken by the incident, even though he seemed to have casually brushed it off afterward. Nathaniel would not soon forget the look of terror mixed with resignation on Anders’ face as Rylock prepared to skewer him with her sword.

And, as he walked to the nearby creek to wash up for supper, his mind kept returning to last night. The sound of someone moaning had awakened him, and he had become instantly alert. Years of training forced him to remain motionless, to assess the danger before making any moves.

Just as he realized that the sound had come from Anders, he heard another moan, and there was no way in Thedas that the noise could be mistaken for distress.  Before he could stop himself—and he honestly wasn’t sure what he had expected to see—he had cracked his eyes open and looked over at the mage lying in the other bed.

Though Anders was under his covers, Nathaniel’s now very wide opened eyes could very clearly see Anders’ hand—and the pumping action it was making. Nathaniel’s face flushed with heat as he realized the mage was pleasuring himself. He watched, hypnotized, as Anders’ hand moved faster and a few quiet whimpers indicated how much the other man was enjoying himself.

Anders’ free arm had been covering his face, but it hadn’t done much to muffle the loud groan he emitted as his hips bucked upwards.

Nathaniel had lain awake for the rest of the night, his mind reeling from what he had seen—from what he had _watched_ —for he had definitely been watching. He should have closed his eyes when he realized what was happening, turned his back on the sight and pretended not to know what Anders was doing, but he hadn’t. Something, some uncontrollable _force_ , had kept him from being able to turn away. He had been—

Nathaniel closed that door of thought immediately. He had been surprised, nothing more.

oOoOo

As they tucked into the rabbit stew Gideon had prepared, Nathaniel thought back to their encounter with Rylock. “What exactly are phylacteries?”

Anders paused in his eating. “They’re vials of blood, _mage_ blood. It’s how the Templars find us.” Nathaniel looked at him questioningly and Anders continued. “The first thing that happens to a mage when he arrives at the Tower of Magi is that the Templars collect a small sample of his blood and put it in a vial. Well, actually, the _first_ thing they do is show you where the washroom is—because believe me, after a long boat ride across the lake, you’re desperate to have a wee. _Then_ they take a sample of your blood. If the mage ever escapes, they can perform some sort of ritual or something with the blood, and they can see exactly where the mage is.”

Nathaniel’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “You mean the Templars use . . . _blood magic?_ ”

Gideon chuckled mirthlessly. “The Chantry can be a tad bit hypocritical at times.”

Anders nodded in agreement. “I don’t know if it’s blood magic, exactly, but it seems to be pretty close.”

Nathaniel shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe they’d do that! All of their teachings—”

Anders cut him off. “We’re mages. The Templars can do anything they want to us, so long as they keep us in check.” His tone was bitter.

Nathaniel wanted to ask Anders more, but he wasn’t quite sure he wanted the answers. Instead, he returned to his meal, contemplating the mage’s words. He had been raised to be a devout Andrastian, had learned at a young age that mages were dangerous and that the Chantry and the Templars protected people from their wicked ways. To hear that the Templars would take such extreme measures to control mages was unsettling. He had always assumed the mages appreciated, or at least tolerated, the Chantry’s control of them. But he realized now that that was a foolish and naïve thought. For the first time, he found himself wondering if perhaps mages really were treated unfairly.

Anders had persuaded the commander to procure a few bottles of brandy before leaving the inn that morning, and after supper was over Gideon suggested they all have a little “nightcap,” which, given how many bottles of brandy the commander had purchased, Nathaniel suspected was a euphemism for “let’s get piss drunk, and see who throws up first!”

“Antivan Brandy, huh?” Oghren scooted closer to the commander to read the label. “Never tried it myself—that sodding elf wouldn’t let me have any of his.”

Gideon smirked. “I can’t imagine why not, a charmer such as yourself.” He passed the bottle to Anders and faced the dwarf again. “I doubt you’d care much for this stuff, seeing as how you favor proof over taste. Which is why,” he rummaged into his pack once again, “I got you this.”

Oghren’s eyes widened. “Is that Dragon Piss? _Hot damn!”_ He grabbed the bottle out of Gideon’s hand and pulled the cork out with his teeth.

Nathaniel looked at his commander bemusedly. “Dragon Piss?”

Gideon shrugged. “It’s a figurative name.” He seemed to think for a moment. “Probably.”

“I bet,” Anders said suddenly, “that I can finish off this entire bottle of brandy before you’ve even drunk _half_ that bottle of piss.”

Oghren guffawed. “Yer on!”

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he directed the question to both of them.

“Don’t worry,” Gideon said. “I’ve got four more bottles of brandy, and I’m sure Oghren has other spirits hidden away somewhere.”

“I wasn’t worried about running out of alcohol,” Nathaniel said dryly. “I just don’t know that it’s a good idea for a heavy-drinking dwarf and an inexperienced mage to have a drinking contest.”

Anders looked affronted. “Who’re you calling inexperienced?”

“I meant when it comes to drink. I doubt the Templars let mages have alcohol very often.”

Anders shrugged. “That’s true,” he said grudgingly. His lips curved into a wicked grin. “All the more reason to do it.” He raised his bottle in a toast. “Ready?” he asked Oghren.

The dwarf grunted. “Aye.” He smacked his bottle against Anders’ raised one before bringing it to his lips.

Nathaniel watched in a sort of horrified fascination as both man and dwarf began drinking from their bottles, the glug-glug sound of liquid ringing through the clearing. Gideon grinned at him and shrugged, as if to say _what can we do?_

He took a small sip from the bottle of brandy Gideon had offered him, not really interested in drinking, but not wanting to distance himself from his fellow Wardens. Several minutes passed as Nathaniel and Gideon drank from their own bottles and watched as Anders and Oghren continued their competition. The spirited guzzling didn’t last very long—Anders wasn’t an experienced enough drinker to have that kind of stamina, and Oghren’s Dragon way too potent for it to be drunk like water.

Or at least he assumed it was, judging by the vapors that had wafted from the bottle after Oghren had removed the cork. Judging by the acrid smell wafting through the air, Nathaniel wouldn’t have been surprised to know that it really _was_ dragon’s piss in the bottle.

Anders was doing his best—he wasn’t drinking nearly as quickly as Oghren was, but he seemed to be holding his own, more or less. He had started wobbling a bit after his first few mouthfuls of brandy, and that wobble got more pronounced as the game continued. Nathaniel strongly suspected that the mage would be lying horizontal on the ground if the competition didn’t end soon.

Oghren won, of course. He’d had more experience with drinking than the mage. Even so, he looked more than a little green as he wiped his mouth after finishing off his bottle of spirits. Anders’ bottle was slightly more than half-full, which was actually impressive for a novice.

It was extremely obvious, however, that even that much brandy was too much for the mage. He was having extreme difficulty maintaining his balance, and his eyes had a slightly glazed cast to them as he stared about the clearing.

“My lips ‘posed to feel numb?” he asked Gideon, his voice louder than normal.

Gideon shook his head, smiling. “Not usually, no.”

Anders started chuckling quietly to himself as he tried to lean back against thin air. There was a heartbeat in which Nathaniel thought he was going to fall off the log and land on the ground, but Anders jerked and planted his feet, momentarily averting disaster.

“This is . . . this is . . .” he seemed to be thinking, staring at the bottle of brandy intently. “this is ver’ good stuff.” He nodded his head a few times. “Ver’ good.”

Oghren let out a huge belch and looked over at Nathaniel. “Yer not drinkin’ very much.”

Nathaniel grimaced. “I don’t have much taste for drinking, I’m afraid. I spent too much time around my brother, Thomas, to find it very entertaining.

Oghren grinned. “Liked to have his fun, eh?”

Nathaniel shrugged. “He could find his fun almost anywhere.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “And then he’d vomit on your shoes.”

Anders and Oghren both started roaring with laughter. Nathaniel blinked at them bemusedly.

“Thomas always _was_ the more interesting one,” Gideon grinned.

“Depends on your definition of ‘interesting,’ I suppose,” Nathaniel replied.

The other two Wardens finally seemed to get themselves under control. Anders was hiccupping quietly, letting out the occasional quiet chuckle.

Oghren pulled the bottle of brandy from Nathaniel’s hand. “Since yer not drinkin’ this . . .” he took a large swig. “Can’t let it go to waste.” He grinned.

Nathaniel didn’t bother protesting. Oghren’s confiscation of the bottle gave him an excuse to quit drinking. It wasn’t that he disliked drinking, not really. It was the loss of control that came with it. The alcohol dulled your senses, made you vulnerable . . . and it also made you do incredibly stupid things.

The four Wardens sat there for some time, enjoying the unusual camaraderie that had unexpectedly sprung up among them. Gideon and Oghren continued drinking with abandon, while Anders slowly nursed his first bottle of brandy. Nathaniel was content just to sit there, one ear cocked for any unusual noises. If they were ambushed by darkspawn, at least one of them would be alert enough to fight.

Eventually, Oghren’s eyes started to droop. Along with the Dragon Piss, he had managed to polish off two more bottles of regular brandy by himself. “Welp, time fer me to hit the sack!”

“Wait, wait!” Anders staggered to his feet, a mischievous grin on his face. He swayed back and forth for a moment before finally gaining his equilibrium. “I’ll walk you,” he hiccupped, “I’ll walk you to your tent.”

Oghren scowled. “Don’t even think about it, Sparklefingers. Yer not my type.”

Gideon let out a snort of laughter. “As drunk as you are right now, I’d think even a bronto would be your type.”

“Hardy, har, har,” Oghren growled. “I’m goin’ to bed. _By myself!”_ he shouted at the drunken mage currently trying to sidle up to him.

Anders gave him an impish grin. “Suit yourself.”

They all watched as the dwarf stomped off to his tent, grumbling to himself about man-skirt-wearing freaks.

Gideon looked at Anders, who was still standing. “You weren’t really going to join him in his tent, were you?”

Anders snorted. “‘Course not! I just like giving him a hard time.”

Nathaniel looked up at the tall, lean man standing near him. Unbidden, the image of Anders completely naked sprang into his mind. He turned his head back toward the fire, hoping that no one would notice his burning cheeks. _Why the hell did the mage have to sleep naked? And why did he feel the need to . . . take care of himself . . . when he was sharing a room with someone else? Curse him!_

“Sit down, Mage,” he said through gritted teeth, “before you hurt yourself.”

“I’m just standing,” Anders replied. “How could I possibly hurt myself?” As soon as the words were uttered, the mage seemed to finally lose his balance. He staggered backward and his legs hit the log sitting behind him. As he fell backward over the log, he pinwheeled his arms wildly and a bolt of lightning shot from his fingertips high into the sky.

“Aaand that’s why mage’s shouldn’t get drunk,” Gideon murmured.

“Maker’s breath!” Nathaniel exclaimed.

The mage was splayed out on his back, staring up at the sky and giggling.

Slightly unnerved by the mage’s lack of ability to control his magic, Nathaniel got up from his own seat and pulled him to his feet. “Are you all right?”

Anders continued chuckling as he sat back down on the log, using Nathaniel’s arm to steady himself. “Sorry about that. Magic has a tendency to get a bit out of control if a mage lets his guard down. It can be a real problem during sex, having to explain to your partner why the bedroom curtains are suddenly on fire.” He snorted with laughter.

Nathaniel shook his head, half amused and half horrorstruck at the idea of the mage casting a fireball whilst in the middle of having sex. And why was he even thinking about Anders having sex?

“So,” Anders drawled. “Commander. How ‘bout you tell us about that witch of yours?”

Nathaniel froze, casting a quick look at Gideon to see the man’s reaction to Anders’ indiscreet question.

Gideon cast the mage A Look. “We’re Wardens, Anders, not a bunch of gossiping fishwives.”

Anders pouted. “What’s the good of getting drunk if we can’t tell each other juicy secrets that we won’t remember in the morning?”

Gideon actually laughed at that. “I’m not that drunk. And neither is Nathaniel.”

“Pssh, don’t worry about that—rogues are used to keeping secrets. Right, Nate?”

Nathaniel felt a tiny shiver run down his spine at Anders’ use of his childhood nickname. Suddenly his mouth felt very dry, and he couldn’t quite find his voice.

“Come on, tell us about her!” Anders cajoled. “Is she beautiful? I heard from some of the mages who saw her in the Tower that she has _really_ big ti—”

“Anders!” Nathaniel cut him off. “Surprising as it may seem, there is actually more to a woman than her breasts.”

Gideon smirked at him. “You would say that.”

Nathaniel opened his mouth to ask Gideon what he meant by that, but he was interrupted by the mage.

“Just tell us about her, already! She’s not really Flemeth’s daughter is she? The Witch of the Wilds?”

Gideon nodded. “She is,” he said quietly. His eyes stared into the fire crackling before them. “She’s Flemeth’s daughter, and she betrayed me. But, I loved her—still do, actually.” He sighed.  “The Grey Wardens keep a lot of secrets—I’ve already told you most of them. But there’s one that I suppose you could call the ‘father’ of secrets. The biggest of them all.” His eyes were focused intently on the flames. “You see, in order for the Archdemon to be killed, a Grey Warden has to die.”

Nathaniel started in surprise. “What?”

“Near the end of the Blight, Alistair and I rescued a Grey Warden from Orlais.” He grimaced. “We found him when we invaded your father’s estate.” Nathaniel looked away—he did not want to hear about that day, not from Gideon.

“His name was Riordan, and the night before the final battle in Denerim, he told us the truth about how Grey Wardens end the Blight. He said that the Archdemon is an ‘empty, soulless vessel.’ When an Archdemon is killed, its essence—or spirit, or whatever it is—jumps to the nearest darkspawn, who’s then transformed into the Archdemon—making the bastard pretty much immortal. But if a Grey Warden is there, he or she will absorb that essence instead. I’m not entirely sure why, but it’s something to do with the Taint in us.”

Nathaniel shook his head in disbelief. “How could someone survive something like that?”

Gideon looked at him, his eyes almost dead. “They can’t,” his voice was flat. “The transference destroys the Archdemon—and the Warden.”

“Then how come you’re still alive?” Anders asked; the weighty conversation seemed to have sobered him up a bit.

“That’s where Morrigan comes in.” He paused for several moments, seemingly uncertain as to whether or not he should continue. “What I’m about to tell you can’t ever be repeated. To anyone.” He looked from Anders to Nathaniel. “If the other Wardens ever found out the truth about what happened, it could be very dangerous. At the very least, they’d try to hunt Morrigan down.”

The two Wardens quickly reassured Gideon that his words would not be repeated to anyone, at least not by them.

“According to legend, Flemeth is the most powerful witch who ever lived, and I believe it. She told Morrigan about a ritual that, if performed on the eve of battle, would save the life of the Grey Warden who defeats the Archdemon. I don’t really know how the specifics, and I don’t _want_ to know. But it basically boiled down to my needing to have sex with Morrigan.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Anders said, most likely trying to lighten the mood.

“No, it doesn’t,” Gideon agreed. “It wasn’t as if we’d never had sex before. It was the result of that coupling that was hard . . . that was hard for me to deal with.” He swallowed audibly. “You see, a child was conceived. And according to Morrigan, when I defeated the Archdemon its essence went into that child. If the child survived that, which I honestly don’t know if it did, it has the soul of an Old God. And Maker only knows what the outcome of _that_ will be.

“After I killed the Archdemon, Morrigan disappeared. I haven’t seen or heard from her since then. And she told me not to go looking for her—just to leave her be. She wants to raise the child alone, away from everyone else. She has plans for it, I’m sure, but I’ve no idea what they are.” That dead look had returned to his eyes. “But the worst part, the very worst, is that Morrigan had planned it from the beginning. It’s why she came along with Alistair and me in the first place. It’s probably why she seduced me. And now I’ll never really know if she meant it: if she ever really, truly loved me, or if it was all an act.

 “She gave me this.” He held up his hand to show them a handsome ring made of dark wood, strange shapes and designs seeming to slide along its surface like oil on water. “We’d been together for a few months, and I’d fallen in love with her by then. I never told her, of course. I didn’t want to scare her away.” He smiled sadly. “Anyway, she told me that this ring was special. That through it she could find me no matter where I went, and she could come to me if I needed her.”

He let out a bark of bitter laughter. “Not unlike phylacteries, now that I come to think of it. But I’d like to think that her intentions were better than the Templars’. I think that, to her, it was a symbol of how she felt for me. That I was important enough to her that she always wanted to be able to know where I am and what I’m doing. She said that the ring links her to me as much as it links me to her.”

Nathaniel smiled to himself, thinking about the ring Delilah had given him as a child. “That’s a nice sentiment.”

Gideon scowled. “It’s bullshit, is what it is,” he said angrily. “The damned thing only works one way. She can find me whenever she wants . . . but I can’t ever find her.

“I don’t know where she is, or where my child is. I don’t—” his voice cracked, “I don’t even know if I have a son or daughter.” He swiped at his eyes angrily. “I don’t even know if either of them is still alive.”

“Do you regret it?” Anders asked softly. “Doing the ritual?”

Gideon shook his head. “No, I don’t regret doing it. But I do regret not going after her when I had the chance. It’s been so long . . . I wouldn’t even know where to find her.”

A few minutes passed in complete silence before Gideon finally seemed to come back from the dark place that he had withdrawn to during the telling of his story. “It’s late. Why don’t you two get some sleep, and I’ll take the first watch.”

Nathaniel knew a dismissal when he heard one. He stood up. “You’ll wake me for the second watch?” He nodded his head toward Anders, who was now staggering towards his tent. “I doubt he’s in any shape to take lookout tonight.”

Gideon nodded in agreement. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

Nathaniel wanted to say something more, something comforting. He wanted to tell Gideon that he understood pain and loss, that he understood what it felt like not to be sure if the person you loved had ever really loved you back. But he couldn’t. The gulf between them was still too large—perhaps it always would be. Instead, he bade the man goodnight and headed to his own tent.

oOoOo

Nathaniel lay awake in his tent for a long time, thinking. He thought about Gideon’s story, and how much it revealed about the man who was once just Fergus’ annoying little brother, but was now Nathaniel’s commander. After everything that had happened at Highever, for Gideon to give his heart to someone and then have her betray him . . . it must have been near unbearable.

But there was something else weighing on his mind as he tossed and turned in his bedroll, trying to fall asleep. As hard as he might try, he could not stop thinking about that damnable mage, and not only about what had happened in the middle of the night, but also about what had happened just before he’d turned in for bed—did he truly sleep naked _all_ the time? Nathaniel replayed the image of the nude mage over and over in his head. His skin had been tan and smooth. He was thin, but not scrawny. Nathaniel had actually been surprised to see how muscular the mage was. He was neither bulky nor unsightly . . . in fact he was quite handsome. It was painful for Nathaniel to admit that to himself, but it was true. Anders was extremely handsome—and Nathaniel was attracted to him. And that absolutely terrified him.

Unbidden, a memory came to him: a summer when the Couslands had come to visit his family in Amaranthine, two years before Nathaniel was sent away to the Free Marches.

oOoOo

_It had been an unbearably hot day, and he and Fergus had spent the entire morning together._

_The sun had just reached its apex when the two noblemen parted ways—Fergus had agreed to meet his father at midday to practice his swordwork. Unlike Nathaniel’s own father, Bryce Cousland was a warrior first and a Teyrn second._

_He breathed a sigh of happiness when he walked into the coolness of the Keep’s Great Hall. It felt like heaven to get away from the sun’s harsh glare. His father was standing in the Hall, waiting for him. He beckoned for Nathaniel to follow him up to the sitting room that connected to his parents’ bedroom._

_Nathaniel felt a shiver of trepidation pass over him as his father shut the door firmly behind them. “Where have you been, Nathaniel?” Rendon asked quietly, his voice cold._

_“I was with Fergus,” Nathaniel said, bewildered. “We were in the training yard.”_

_“No, you weren’t. Bryce just returned from there. He was looking for his son.” Rendon’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You and Fergus went somewhere else, didn’t you?” Nathaniel’s blood ran cold. He knew. He knew about Fergus and Nathaniel. Or he suspected, at least. But how? They were always so careful. But even the whiff of a rumor would be enough to catch his father’s attention._

_“We-we went riding after. U-up on the moors.” Nathaniel backed away from his father, the fear in him rising as he watched Rendon pick up the belt that had been lying on top of the dresser. Idly, he tapped the belt against his hand—the snapping noise cutting through the silence._

_“Where were you, Nathaniel?” Still flicking the belt, his father circled around behind him._

_“I told you,” Nathaniel’s voice was shaky but defiant. “Fergus and I went riding—” He cried out as the first blow landed on his back, the force of it sending him to his knees._

_“You dare lie to me?” Rendon’s voice was filled with venom. He brought the belt down hard once more and Nathaniel felt a stinging sensation that surely meant the skin had been broken. Rendon growled as he snapped the belt across Nathaniel’s back again, and again, and again. “I will not—” crack! “tolerate—” Crack! “lying!” CRACK!_

_Nathaniel grit his teeth, refusing to make any more noise. He would not show weakness._

_“Where were you?” Rendon shouted._

_Nathaniel shook his head, too afraid to say what he and Fergus had been doing. It would be far worse if his father knew the truth._

_Rendon strode forward and grabbed hold of Nathaniel’s shirt collar, dragging him to his feet. Nathaniel couldn’t stop himself from cringing away from him. “W-we were r-riding,” he sobbed. “I swear. I swear!” He prayed to the Maker that his father would believe him._

_Rendon’s eyes bore into Nathaniel’s, as if trying to read his mind. He waited for the feel of the belt again, but instead his father released him._

_“You had better not be lying to me, Nathaniel. You damn well better have been out riding. Because if I find out otherwise . . .” He didn’t need to finish his sentence—Nathaniel knew what would happen._

_He spent the rest of the day in his room, not speaking to anyone. Not even Fergus._

oOoOo

The adult Nathaniel lay on his bedroll, staring up at the roof of his tent. He wondered why that particular memory had come to him.  It had not been the first lesson he had received at the end of his father’s belt, and it had not been the last. Indeed, it hadn’t even been the worst. But in the end, Nathaniel had learned the lesson his father had tried to teach him. He was a disgrace, wicked. His thoughts and desires, his lusts were disgusting and wrong. So, he forced those feelings down, hid them away until he’d finally been able to convince himself that he was no longer like that.

And then that damnable mage came along! With his easy charm, and his flirting. Nathaniel, who never opened up to anyone, found himself wanting to confide in Anders, to tell him things about himself that he’d never told anyone. But that would be foolishness. Anders would just laugh at him, like he always did. Better just to forget about him, ignore him completely.

It was a long time before he finally fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as usual, to Olndina for helping me make this all nice and pretty.

As Nathaniel had hardly drunk at all the night before, and Oghren was a seasoned drinker, both of them were hail and hearty the next morning. Gideon was a bit more cross than usual, but he seemed no worse for wear. Anders was finding it incredibly difficult to keep up with them.  His eyeballs felt as if they had had salt rubbed into them, and his tongue had a strange furry feel to it, not to mention the raging headache that was threatening to split his skull open.

“Why are we walking so damn fast?” His voice sounded peevish, even to his own ears.

Gideon glanced back at him. “We’re not walking fast, Anders. You’re just walking slow. Too slow.” He scowled. “Pick up the damn pace or we’ll have to spend another night camping out.”

That got Anders moving. He really hated sleeping in a tent on the cold, hard ground. He’d much rather be back in his soft, warm bed at the Keep, especially if he could find a soft, warm body to share it with. Mmm . . . perhaps a brunette, with strong hands and lean muscles, and—damnit! He was finding it extremely hard to put thoughts of Nathaniel out of his head.

He’d not had much time to dwell on the brooding rogue yesterday, as his thoughts were mostly occupied with what had happened with Rylock. _Hateful, horrible bitch_. He couldn’t believe the whole thing had been a trap she’d set just to catch him. Yes, he’d always known she hated mages, but for her to go after him so deliberately was more than a little unsettling. He shuddered as he remembered the look of cold hatred in her eyes while she stood mere seconds away from running him through with her sword. He had always figured his death would come at the hands of a Templar, but he’d suspected it would be while he was still on the run. To have it happen right when he’d thought he was finally free was like a dash of cold water to his face—a reminder that no matter what, he would always be an apostate. He hadn’t really been joking when he’d talked about the ‘smell of freedom.’ This trip to Amaranthine was the first time he’d been in a city in years without the stench of fear to foul it. The idea of being able to go anywhere he wanted, with his head held high, was nothing short of perfect. He should have known it was too good to be true.

No phylactery, and no freedom. The Wardens may have been able to protect him from death at the hands of a Templar, but he’d still be hunted, hated, despised, for the rest of his life, short as it may be.

And, Maker, it really would have been damn short if it hadn’t been for Nathaniel. The rogue had acted just in the nick of time. Anders reflected that Nathaniel very much resembled the heroes in the stories his mother used to tell him when he was a child.

Living in the Anderfels, bedtime stories about Grey Wardens were a part of every child’s life: stories of brave knights—noble and courageous, strong and brave—protecting Thedas and rescuing damsels in distress. Anders could picture Nathaniel standing on a hillside, one foot resting on a large rock, his grandfather’s bow in his hand poised to shoot an arrow straight through a genlock’s eye from fifty yards away. The warm rays of the sun would filter down through the clouds to cast a halo of light around him. Anders chuckled to himself. Too much drink and not enough sleep were clearly making him think a little crazily.

“Hurry the fuck up, Anders!” Gideon yelled back at him. He glanced up and realized that he had trailed so far behind the others that they were nearly out of sight. He trotted forward to catch up with them, purposely ignoring Nathaniel’s look of contempt.

“Sorry. I was . . . thinking.”

Oghren leered at him. “Got a woman on yer mind, eh?”

Anders blinked at him. “What?”

“That girlfriend of yers wasn’t too bad lookin’, for an elf.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, which Anders found more than a little unsettling.

It took Anders a moment to figure out whom the dwarf was talking about.

“Who? Namaya?” He shrugged. “She was never really my girlfriend, just a sort of casual thing, if you get my drift.”

“Heh, had some fun nights with her, did you?”

Anders smirked. “You could say that.” He glanced around and caught Nathaniel watching him with a dark expression on his face.

“I’m not that big on elves, myself,” Oghren continued. “Too bony. I like an arse you can really get yer hands on, you know what I mean?”

Anders chuckled. _Maker, but the dwarf could leer!_ “You’re quite the dirty little dwarf.”

“And _yer_ quite the dirty little mage.” Oghren elbowed him in the ribs.

“I do my best!” He flashed the dwarf a cheeky grin. “I could tell you about that electricity thing, if you’d like. The ladies _love_ it.”

He felt something bump into his shoulder as Nathaniel stalked past him. _What the hell is going on with him?_ If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the rogue was jealous, which was completely ridiculous. Wasn’t it?

Desperate for a distraction from his own confused thoughts, he spent the remainder of the trip trading insults with Oghren and casting furtive glances at Nathaniel, who seemed to be doing his best to ignore everyone around him.

oOoOo

It was late afternoon by the time they got back to the Keep. Varel was on them almost as soon as they arrived. “Ah, Commander. Good to have you back. I was worried you might not make it in time.”

Gideon looked at him questioningly as he and the others headed to the baths. “Not make it back in time for what?”

The seneschal seemed a bit uncomfortable. “I, uh, took the liberty of summoning all of the local banns. They’ll be here by tomorrow afternoon for the ceremony.”

That stopped Gideon short. “What ceremony?” His voice was steely.

“You’re the new Arl of Amaranthine as well as the Commander of the Grey—your new vassals need to swear fealty to you. It’s custom.” Varel appeared to squirm under Gideon’s glare.

“I’ve no interest in holding some party for people who’ll lick my boots one moment and stab me in the back the next.”

Varel inclined his head respectfully. “I quite understand, Commander. But unfortunately it needs to be done, if you are to have any sort of power here.”

Anders noticed Nathaniel slipping off toward the baths, his face a thundercloud. Even after learning what his father had done, it must have still been hard to live in his family’s former home and know that the land that should rightfully be his now belonged to someone else.

He wasn’t exactly sure if his company would be welcome, but he really did want a bath. Deciding that he’d be capable of handling a few glares for the sake of getting clean, he followed Nathaniel downstairs to the bathing chambers.

Sure enough, as soon as he entered the room, Nathaniel glared at him. “You must have taken a wrong turn, Mage,” he said dryly. “The kitchen’s upstairs.”

Anders sat down on one of the benches and pulled off his boots. “Why would I want the kitchens?”

Nathaniel was removing his armor. “I just assumed you’d be looking for the company of a woman, seeing as how you had no luck in Amaranthine.”

Anders laughed. “That’s actually not a bad idea—perhaps I’ll go looking for one later.” He had to hide a victorious smile when Nathaniel’s scowl deepened. He removed his robes and slipped into the steaming bath, not bothering to hide his nakedness from the other man. If Nathaniel wanted to be a prude, so be it, but Anders wasn’t going to let the rogue’s embarrassment get to him.

He closed his eyes and let out a groan of contentment as the warm water washed over him. A minute or so later he heard a splashing sound as Nathaniel joined him in the large tub. He opened his eyes just a slit to see that the rogue had seated himself as far from Anders as possible. He closed his eyes again and let his mind drift. He was pulled back to reality by Nathaniel’s gravelly voice.

“Are all mages as promiscuous as you?”

Anders bristled at that. _First we’re deviant, and now we’re promiscuous._ “Are all nobles as repressed as you?”

He heard Nathaniel growl. “I am not repressed, Mage. I simply do not flaunt myself as you do.”

Anders’ eyes popped open at that. He looked at the rogue with surprise. “When have I ever flaunted myself? I haven’t had sex in weeks.”

Nathaniel huffed. “That must be agony for you,” he said sarcastically.

Anders flashed him a cheeky grin. “It is. But, to answer your question, most mages are fairly open when it comes to sex. It’s not as if there’s a whole lot else to do in the Circle.” He grabbed a bar of soap from the floor next to the tub and began scrubbing himself. “And,” he continued, working the soap into a lather, “everyone had the tendency to wear the same kinds of robes in the Circle, so we’d lose track of who we had and hadn’t already had sex with.”

Nathaniel looked at him blankly. “Maker, you can’t be serious.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “ _Of course_ I’m not serious.” He continued to clean himself up. “Look, things are just different in the Circle. We had to take our fun where we could find it.”

Nathaniel grabbed his own bar of soap. “How are things different there?”

Anders shrugged. “Once a mage is taken to the Circle, that’s pretty much it for us. We spend the rest of our lives locked up in a tower, stuck with the same people day in and day out. The only hint we have of the outside world are these tiny little windows set so high up on the walls you can’t see anything except the sky. They never tell us what’s going on outside, never let us have even a taste of freedom.” He was starting to get angry, but he couldn’t help himself. He hated thinking about how mages were treated. “There’s no such thing as privacy or personal space, and nothing to do but read the same damn books in the same damn library and speak to the same damn people every day for the rest of our hopeless, boring lives!” He glared at the water in the tub. “So if we’re a little wilder than _normal_ people usually are, it’s just because we’re trying to find something that makes our lives even halfway livable.”

 He looked up to see the rogue staring at him, a surprised expression on his face. “I didn’t realize—”

“No, you didn’t.” Anders cut him off. “No one does. It’s like I said—no one really cares about mages so long as we’re safely locked away.” Suddenly, being around other people seemed like a bad idea. He made a token effort to rinse himself off before stepping from the tub. He felt just the tiniest bit disappointed when Nathaniel averted his eyes.

It wasn’t until after he’d dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist that Nathaniel spoke up. “Is it really so bad in the Circle?” he asked quietly.

Anders sighed wearily. He sat down on the bench and ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, it really is.” He hesitated a moment, deliberating. He sucked in a deep breath and decided that if Nathaniel really wanted to know, then Anders would tell him. “There was this apprentice, Amira. She was . . . beautiful.” His mind turned inward as he remembered the girl he had been friends with once upon a time. “She had light blonde hair, and chubby cheeks. And this perfect little cupid mouth.” He smiled to himself, barely noticing the frown on Nathaniel’s face.

“She was extremely shy, though. Timid. She had a great knack for healing, so I took her under my wing.” His brows creased. “She . . . had an admirer. A Templar. He used to follow her everywhere. I used to make jokes about it. He looked at Nathaniel with anguish. “I didn’t know, you see. Not until it was too late.”

“What didn’t you know?” Nathaniel asked quietly.

Anders took a deep breath. “He raped her. I don’t know how many times, but it went on for a couple of months. He’d go to her dorm in the middle of the night, and take her down to the storerooms, and . . .” he trailed off. “She was too terrified to tell anyone; I don’t know what he threatened her with, what he held over her, but it was enough to keep her from saying anything.

“I think now about how I spent nearly every day with her during that time, and I didn’t suspect a thing.” He laughed bitterly. “I always think of myself as a people person, but I couldn’t see what was going on right in front of me. I noticed she was a bit thinner than she had been before, a bit paler and more withdrawn. But I chalked that up to her being nervous about—about becoming a fully-fledge mage. It’s a big responsibility.” He’d almost mentioned the Harrowing, but that would take too much time to explain. He sighed. “Anyway, I was walking around the tower one night, trying to find a new escape route. I heard something that sounded like whimpering, coming from one of the classrooms. I went in and there she was, lying on the floor…” He squeezed his eyes shut. Never, for as long as he lived, would he forget that sight. “Her face was all bruised, and her lips were cut and swollen. And there was . . . there was blood on the floor . . . under her legs.”

Nathaniel made a strange sound, but didn’t speak. The silence made it easier for Anders to continue. He’d been holding this to himself for so long, and now that he’d started his story, he found that he wanted to finish it.

“I cleaned her up and healed her . . . it took almost an hour of pleading and threatening before I got her finally to tell me what was going on.  She . . . she . . .” He finally looked at Nathaniel, and saw his own pain reflected on the other man’s face. “She was pregnant, and she told him. She didn’t know what else to do. And he . . . he beat her. He said that no child of his was going to be a mage, and that she had done it on purpose, just to trap him. He beat her so badly that she . . . lost the baby. He beat her until she was almost dead and then he just left her there on the floor like she was a piece of trash.” He felt the anger rising up inside him, as his vision started to blur. “And I was so stupid. This was years ago, and I was still young and naïve enough to believe that I could get her help. I talked her into telling the Knight Commander. I would have had her tell the First Enchanter, but he was away.”

He had become so lost in the past with the telling of his story that Nathaniel’s voice startled him. “What happened? Didn’t he help her?”

Anders let out a bitter laugh. “I told you, Nathaniel. No one cares. I learned that the hard way. She told Greagoir what the Templar did to her. And when he questioned the man, the bastard swore up and down that she was a maleficar and had used blood magic to enslave him. Enslave him! This tiny, timid little girl who couldn’t hurt a fly—and he said _she_ forced _him_. And Greagoir took one look at the girl, and one look at the Templar . . . and then he sentenced her to Aeonar.”

Nathaniel gaped at him. “How could he do that?”

“Very easily,” Anders said hoarsely. “There was no way the Knight Commander was going to take the word of a mage over a Templar. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to think otherwise. As much as I hated the Circle, I was still idealistic enough to believe that the Templars were there to protect us. I thought that Greagoir would save her.” He shook his head sadly. “Maker, I was so, so wrong.”

“So she’s at Aeonar now?”

Anders shook his head, sadly. “No. She hanged herself about a week after she got there. She . . . I guess she just couldn’t live with what had happened to her.” A single tear slipped from his eye. “It’s my fault she died. If I hadn’t made her tell someone—”

Nathaniel cut him off. “Then that bastard would have just kept hurting her. You couldn’t have known what would happen, Anders. No one could have.”

Anders looked at him, startled by his gentle tone. “Maybe.” He sniffled as he wiped at his eyes. He appreciated Nathaniel’s attempt to comfort him, but he knew that he’d never be able to forgive himself for what had happened.  He cleared his throat. “Maybe that’s not the best example of how things are in the Circle,” he tried to smile, but couldn’t do it. “Most Templars aren’t that bad. They’re in it for—well, for what they think are the right reasons. They just keep an eye on us, and make sure we behave ourselves like good little mages. But there are some Templars who don’t just hate mages. They _despise_ mages. For them, it’s not enough just to watch us—they want to punish us, hurt us, to . . . well, I guess you know . . . You had the pleasure of Rylock’s acquaintance.”

Nathaniel looked at him hesitantly. “Were you ever . . .?”

“Raped?” Anders asked. “No. Beaten? Humiliated? Treated like dirt? Many, many times.” He finally managed a wry smile. “The Templars don’t like it when mages try to get away from them.”

Nathaniel frowned. “If the conditions in the Tower are that bad, why don’t the mages fight back?”

Anders snorted. “They did, during the Blight. It didn’t turn out well.” That was not a story he was ready to tell yet, to anyone. He stood abruptly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you with all that. It’s just . . . things aren’t always the way you think they are.” He turned and left the room, not waiting for Nathaniel’s response.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to Olndina for beta'ing this for me. The idea for what the Howe vase might actually look like came from FantasyFiend09.

A sigh of relief escaped Nathaniel’s lips as he closed the door to his room, the desire to block out the rest of the world overwhelming him. After more than two hours, he’d finally been able to escape the Fealty Ceremony that the Seneschal had organized. If there was one thing he didn’t miss about being a nobleman, it was the endless stream of ceremonies and balls that he had been required to attend when he was younger. At least there was no longer an endless line of banns’ daughters paraded in front of him like cattle.

He quickly rid himself of his doublet and hosen and changed into a pair of light cotton breeches and a tunic, his usual sleepwear. He was just about to crawl into bed when there was a knock on the door. He opened it hesitantly, hoping it wasn’t Gideon there to scold him for leaving the ceremony early.

To his surprise, it was the mage. “Anders? Is something wrong?” Why else would he be there?

Anders shook his head. “No, no, everything’s fine.” He flashed him a smile. “I picked something up in Amaranthine that I thought you might like. I just found it when I was unpacking; I’d forgotten all about it.”

Nathaniel opened the door further and Anders entered, holding a small bundle of cloth, which he handed it to Nathaniel . Curious, Nathaniel unwrapped the bundle to find a small golden vase; engraved on the side was the Howe crest. “This is . . . where did you get this?” He looked up at Anders.

“At one of the shopkeepers,” Anders replied. “He had it out on the table and I thought I recognized the crest.  I mean, it’s the same as the one that’s on your bow, isn’t it?”

Nathaniel nodded. “This was my mother’s. It’s a bud vase. She used to keep it on her vanity, and every morning one of the maids would put a single rose inside it.” He stared at the tiny vase as childhood memories flooded his mind. “She loved roses.” He looked up at the mage. “Thank you, Anders. This is . . . It means a lot to me.”

Anders grinned at him. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It must have cost you a lot. I’ll pay you back for it.” He didn’t have much coin, but perhaps he could talk Gideon into giving him an advance on his salary.

Anders shook his head, still smiling. “I got a good deal on it.  Consider it a ‘thank you’ for saving my life.”

Nathaniel moved to the mantelpiece over the fire, and set the vase down in the very center of it, turning it until the crest was facing outward. He carefully traced the design of the crest with his finger before turning back around to find Anders sitting on the chaise.

Nathaniel sat down next to him. “Was Gideon mad that I left early?” he asked.

 “I doubt it.” Anders shrugged. “He wrapped things up pretty quickly after that, anyway.” He chuckled quietly. “I doubt he wanted to be there any more than you did.”

Nathaniel’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “I can imagine.”

A few moments of silence passed between them before Anders finally spoke. “Who was that woman you were talking to?”

“That woman? Oh, that was Bann Esmerelle,” Nathaniel replied. “She and my father were . . . very close.” He let the words linger, knowing that Anders would understand his meaning.

Anders raised an eyebrow. “You looked awfully upset after she left.”

Nathaniel felt a flash of irritation at the mage’s obvious prying, but it quickly faded when he saw the look of concern on the other man’s face. He realized that Anders wasn’t just being nosy, he was actually concerned about Nathaniel. Strange. Even stranger was the obvious fact that Anders had been watching him so intently during the ceremony.

“She was the one who told me about my father,” he finally said, “after I arrived in Amaranthine.”

Anders looked at him startled. “You mean about . . . how he died?”

Nathaniel nodded. “She told me a lot of things, things which I know now aren’t true.” He sighed, suddenly tired to his bones. “She doesn’t think much of me now, that’s for sure.”

“Why not?” Anders asked. “I mean, not that it’s any great loss, from what I saw of the woman . . .”

“I think that she assumed I would want to take up my father’s mantle, that I would be like him. She was most upset to find that I didn’t kill Gideon when I had the chance.”

Anders leaned back on the chaise, stretching his arm out along the back. Much to his own surprise, Nathaniel didn’t shy away from the closeness. “Didn’t she know you when you were younger?” the mage asked. “You weren’t anything like your father, were you?”

Nathaniel’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “I wasn’t like my father at all . . . that was my problem.”

“You mean that was _your father’s_ problem.”

Nathaniel looked at him sharply, before relenting. “More or less. As for Esmerelle, no, she didn’t know me that well when I was a child. My father’s policy for his children was ‘be seen, but don’t be heard.’ He wanted everyone to think we were all one big happy family.” His voice was laced with a bitterness that was surprising, but perhaps shouldn’t have been.

“And you weren’t?” Anders asked softly.

“Not exactly.” He stared into the fire. “It was . . .”  He sighed.  “Thomas was always the better son. I was the disappointment. And since I was eldest—and our father’s heir—well . . . let’s just say that it wasn’t always pleasant for me here.” Even more than his bitterness, Nathaniel’s opening up to the other man was surprising. It felt good to voice these thoughts. Anders had trusted Nathaniel enough to tell him about that girl he’d known in the Tower, and he found himself wanting to return the favor. “My father . . . expected a lot of me,” Nathaniel said slowly. “He wanted me to be like him, in every way possible.” He looked at Anders. “I knew he was a hard man, and cruel, but I just didn’t want to believe it. I thought there was something wrong with _me_ for thinking that there was something wrong with _him_.” He shook his head. “I don’t know if that even makes any sense.”

“It does,” Anders replied. “You couldn’t be what he wanted you to be, so instead of blaming him, you blamed yourself.”

Nathaniel blinked. “How did you . . .”

It was Anders’ turn to look bitter. “It’s the same for a lot of mages. They blame themselves for being able to do magic. They think there’s something wrong with them, because everyone tells them there is.”

“But not you?” Nathaniel asked.

“No. I’ve never felt guilty about being a mage. I’m proud of it. I don’t give a shit what the Chantry or anyone else says. Magic isn’t a curse.” His brow furrowed.

Nathaniel actually smiled at that. “Then you have more fortitude than I. I constantly worried about what my father thought of me.”

“You don’t anymore though, right?” Anders actually looked concerned. “Because you shouldn’t.”

The fire crackled in the hearth as Nathaniel thought about the question. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I know I didn’t live up to his expectations, but I’m not sure if I should be proud of that or ashamed.”

“You should be proud.” The hardness in Anders’ voice surprised him. “You’re a good man.”

Nathaniel looked away from the mage, slightly embarrassed.  “Thank you.”

A few moments of silence passed before Anders spoke again. “So, do you think all those posh nobs are still loyal to your father?”

Nathaniel was a bit surprised by the change in topic. “I’m sure some of them are. Why?”

“I overheard a few of them talking. I couldn’t tell what they were saying, but it was pretty suspicious the way they were all huddled together, whispering.” He hesitated. “It sounded like they might have been planning something against the Commander.”

“Did you tell Gideon?”

Anders nodded. “He said, ‘let the bastards try it.’”

Nathaniel chuckled. “Exactly what I’d expect him to say. Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll take your words to heart and watch his back. Gideon’s no fool—he knows there are plenty of people who aren’t happy he has my father’s land and title.”

“Why? From what I know of your father, he didn’t seem like the type who would have ruled the land with a fair hand. No offense.”

“He wasn’t, not really,” Nathaniel replied. “I daresay the peasants will be happy to see Gideon on the arl’s throne . . . if the Commander’s able to keep them from starving, that is. But there were quite a few sycophantic nobles who were well served by my father’s rule. Rendon Howe rewarded those who licked his boots, and he punished those who didn’t.”

Anders scowled a bit at that. “Sounds like the Commander’s going to need to clean house.”

“Perhaps,” Nathaniel agreed. “But he’ll have to be very careful about it.”

Anders cocked his head. “How do you know so much about all this?”

“It’s what I was raised to do. I was the eldest, so I had to be prepared to take my father’s place as arl when he died.”

“Why did he send you to the Free Marches, then?” Anders asked. “If he wanted you to learn how to become arl, shouldn’t you have stayed here?”

Nathaniel frowned. “That’s a long story.” His voice was hard, hopefully enough of an incentive to keep the mage from asking further questions about that topic.

A slight tension seemed to fill the air. “Nathaniel, I . . .”

Nathaniel looked at him, unsettled by the curious look on the mage’s face. “Yes?”

Anders shook his head. “It’s late.” He smiled. “I should get going.”

Nathaniel nodded, ignoring the tiny throb of disappointment that rose up in him. “Right.” He watched as Anders rose from the chaise and headed for the door. “Thank you again, Anders. For the vase.”

Anders shrugged. “Just didn’t seem right letting someone else have it.” He smiled at Nathaniel again. “Goodnight.” He closed the door softly behind him.

oOoOo

Nathaniel’s sleep was broken up by dreams of darkspawn: slavering, hideous monsters, feeding on rotting flesh. There was a dim awareness in the back of his mind that there was someone he had to save, to protect, but every time he returned to wakefulness, he couldn’t remember who it had been.

Several hours of sleeping, then waking, then sleeping again found Nathaniel up and getting dressed in the hour before dawn. If he couldn’t find rest, perhaps he could find food.

It was early enough that he’d expected to have the dining hall to himself, and therefore was surprised to see Gideon sitting on one side of the long table, eating a breakfast of eggs and sausage. Nathaniel brought the porridge he had put together in the kitchen and sat down on the other side of the man. “Morning, Commander.”

Gideon nodded at him in acknowledgment as he continued eating.

The two men ate in silence, though the tension that was usually present between them was absent. There had been a subtle shift between them, one that Nathaniel couldn’t easily identify. Perhaps it had come from him learning and accepting the truth about his father, or maybe it was because they had spent so much time in each other’s company.

Gideon finally broke the silence. “I was wrong about you.”

Nathaniel looked at the other man warily. “About what, exactly?”

Gideon stared at him with those piercing eyes. “You’re not like your father.” He looked back down at his breakfast as he toyed with his fork. “And you don’t deserve to be punished for what he did.”

Nathaniel was completely taken by surprise. That was honestly the last thing he would have expected to hear from Gideon Cousland. “Thank you, Commander,” he said quietly. Then, feeling as if that wasn’t enough, “I truly am sorry for what happened to your family. If I’d been there, if I’d known what my father had been planning . . .”

“You would have done everything you could to stop it, I know.” Gideon actually smiled at him. “If nothing else, you never would have let Fergus be hurt like that.”

Nathaniel froze as he absorbed Gideon’s meaning. “You . . . knew?”

“About you and Fergus?” Gideon asked. “Not at the time, no. But he told me about it years later, some of it at least.”

 _Probably not everything, though,_ Nathaniel thought to himself. He doubted if Fergus would tell his baby brother the whole story, not that it mattered much anymore. Aloud, he said, “You’re right. I’d never hurt Fergus. I never would have hurt any of them.”

Gideon nodded, satisfied, as he returned to his meal.

“We’re going to be heading out in a couple of days,” he said between bites of food. “I want to check out that area in the Knotwood Hills, where those two idiots say they stumbled on a horde of darkspawn.”

“Do you think they were lying?” Nathaniel asked as he spooned up some of his porridge.

Gideon shrugged. “I don’t know. Can’t see what they’d have to gain from telling a lie like that, but the idea of that many darkspawn gathered in one area? I think I’d prefer it if they _were_ lying.”

Nathaniel definitely agreed. They’d run into pockets of darkspawn here and there during their trip to Amaranthine—and in the Keep’s cellars—but even the largest group had consisted of only nine or ten hurlocks and genlocks. The idea of facing a large swarm of them was unsettling.

“They could have lied for the attention,” he mused. “Peasants don’t exactly have exciting lives, so maybe they just made it up to get themselves noticed.”

Gideon shook his head. “I doubt it. The elf acted like he’d been dropped on his head a few times too many, and his friend didn’t look much brighter. Making up a simple story is one thing, but coming up with the details they knew and drawing a pretty good map, I don’t think they have it in them to think up something like that on their own.”

The sound of a fork scraping on an empty plate indicated Gideon had finished his breakfast. “I should go find Varel, apparently he has a whole list of things I need to know in order to run this place.” He scowled as he stood up from the table. “Maybe we can get some sparring practice in later.” He said it casually, as if it was no big deal.

Nathaniel blinked up at him. “I’m always up for a match.”

“Good. I’ll come find you later. After Varel’s done boring me to death.”

Nathaniel nodded respectfully to his commander. He continued eating his porridge, his mind turning over everything that Gideon had said to him. Could it really be possible for the two noblemen to become, if not friends, then at least allies?

He returned to his room to get ready for the day, feeling more at peace than he had since returning to Amaranthine.

Just as he’d finished braiding his hair, the sound of voices in the hallway caught his attention. He moved to the door and opened it just a crack to see Anders standing in the doorway to his own room. Nathaniel’s eyes flickered to the woman—she was one of the cook’s assistants, if he remembered correctly—standing beside the mage. As he watched, Anders leaned in and gave the giggling girl a short, but intimate, kiss on the lips, before bidding her farewell and closing his door. Neither of them seemed to notice that they were being watched.

Nathaniel closed his door quietly and rested his head against it, his newfound peace gone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to Olndina for her lovely beta work. I had to split Kal'Hirol into two chapters, due to the fact that it came in at just under 9,000 words by the time I put in everything I wanted to. The next chapter should be up shortly.

Anders let out a low whistle. “That’s a really big . . . pit. How did no one notice this before?”

Gideon shrugged. “This doesn’t look like a very inviting place, I doubt many people come around here.”

“That’s true,” Nathaniel agreed. “Not much wildlife in this area, and no resources to mine.”

Anders inched closer to the edge and looked down into the deep chasm. Heights had never really bothered him before, but then again, the ground had never been quite so far down either.  Littered along the bottom were several toppled stone pillars, all carved with designs that Anders had never seen before. Scanning the horizon, he spotted the long, rickety bridge. “We’re not going across that, are we?” While he might not be afraid of heights, he was definitely afraid of walking across an incredibly deep chasm with nothing to separate him from death but a few rotted boards and some frayed rope.

Nathaniel and Gideon had already started across the bridge. Oghren slapped him on the back. “C’mon, mage, it’ll hold us.” He chuckled. “Probably.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “Well, _that’s_ reassuring.” He watched as Nathaniel crossed the bridge easily and paused on the other side. The rogue looked back at him with an expectant look on his face, almost as if he was trying to offer encouragement to Anders. He couldn’t stand to look bad in front of the other man, so he stepped tentatively onto the bridge.

Gideon stepped off soon after, so that only Anders and Oghren were left. Anders grasped one of the rope handles as the bridge swayed dangerously. “Are you _sure_ this thing is going to hold?” he called out to Oghren.

“‘Course it’s gonna hold,” Oghren grunted from up ahead. “Those two made it, didn’t they?” Anders fought the urge to say something about how the dwarf was likely heavier than the two men put together; instead he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to look down.

After several slow, shuffling steps he managed to make it to the center of the bridge. Oghren had reached the other side, so he was the only one left. He was just starting to think that this wasn’t actually that bad, when he made the mistake of looking down. “Andraste’s arse,” he muttered to himself. It really was a _long_ way down. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to fight off the wave of dizziness that washed over him.

“You’re almost there, Anders.”  Nathaniel’s voice was just loud enough to carry across the maw.  Anders lifted his head and locked eyes with Nathaniel.  The rogue’s face was creased with concern.  “Just put one foot in front of the other, and you’ll be across in no time.”

Anders nodded. He swallowed harshly before breathing deeply and taking a hesitant step forward. _Just one foot in front of the other_.  He repeated Nathaniel’s words over and over, moving slowly but surely.

An eternity later and he was finally across. He breathed a deep sigh of relief as his feet touched solid ground again. He expected Gideon to make some remark about Anders taking so long, but all he got was a quick nod and, “Let’s get going.” The Commander had definitely been more relaxed lately, and Anders suspected it had something to do with Nathaniel. The tension that had existed between the two of them had dissipated.

Nathaniel, however, was still an enigma. Anders had a pretty good feeling that the rogue was attracted to him, even though he gave no obvious signals. There were hints, though, little things that Anders had picked up on. Nathaniel no longer grumbled when Anders said something flirtatious, and he didn’t seem quite as uncomfortable around him as he had before.

When Anders had first met Nathaniel, he’d felt an overwhelming desire to bed him, to turn on his charm and use every seduction technique he could think of until he finally wore the other man down.  He was accustomed to seducing people he either didn’t really know or didn’t particularly care about, unconsciously using people for his own gains.  But then the two Wardens spent time together, had gotten to know each other, and Anders was starting to realize that things had gotten much too complicated. Anders’ obsession with Nathaniel seemed to be growing, rather than waning. He _cared_ for the rogue, in a way he hadn’t for anyone else in a very long time.  This closeness terrified him.  It was one thing to bed someone, and something else entirely to develop _feelings_ for them. Feelings led to intimacy, which sometimes led to love, which always, _always_ led to someone getting hurt. 

Anders’ first instinct was to ignore his obsession. When that didn’t work, he tried to fight it. He’d told Nathaniel the story about Amira, hoping (and fearing) that Nathaniel would be so disgusted with Anders for how he had handled the situation that he would have nothing else to do with him. There were so many people who, if they knew how mages were really treated in the Circle, would say that the mages deserved every bit of abuse and mistreatment they received. Why would Nathaniel feel any differently?

Anders frowned as he followed after the others; the scars that he received in the Circle would never fade, even if they weren’t visible.

A few hundred yards away from the bridge, they came upon a huge set of stairs leading down into the chasm. Anders scowled.  “Why couldn’t they have put the stairs on the _other_ side?” he huffed. “Then we wouldn’t have had to cross that damn bridge.”

“I’m sure they did it just to piss you off,” Gideon smirked at him.

Anders frowned. “You know, I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out that that was the case.” _At least the stairs look more stable than the rope bridge_.

The Wardens advanced cautiously down the stone stairs and arrived at the bottom just in time to see a diminutive figure being dragged by a few darkspawn towards the stone ruins in the distance. The sound of the grunts and the size of the figure indicated that the captive was a female dwarf. Gideon must have surmised the same thing as he shouted, “Don’t let them take her!”

Anders prepared a stunning spell, but before he had a chance to cast it an arrow whizzed through the air right by his ear and straight into the skull of the hurlock that had been dragging the woman by one of her legs. There was no time to admire Nathaniel’s bowmanship, however, as the rest of the darkspawn attacked while their comrade fell dead.

Anders tried to keep out of the way as much as possible, casting healing and support spells as needed.  From his ranged position, he could see that the female dwarf, who used a small axe and dagger to cut the tendons on a nearby hurlock, was a formidable fighter and a rogue. He focused on her as well as Nathaniel since they wore lighter armor than Oghren and Gideon.

The darkspawn were defeated easily enough; there weren’t that many, and the four Wardens had been fighting together long enough to be able to work seamlessly. When they were done, the dwarf took off her helmet to reveal a crop of short brown hair tied in several pigtails. He heard Oghren let out a grunt of appreciation and smiled to himself. She _was_ quite good looking. Anders was surprised when he felt a small stab of irritation (not jealousy, definitely not jealousy) when he saw Nathaniel smile at her warmly. It was even worse when she smiled back. “Nice shot,” she said admiringly.

Nathaniel inclined his head respectfully. “I’m glad I could be of some help.”

Gideon removed his helmet and held out his hand to her. “Gideon Cousland.” He gestured to the others. “This is Anders, Oghren, and Nathaniel.”

The woman looked at Gideon’s hand with some surprise before shaking it. “Sigrun, at your service.”

“What’s a dwarf doing so far from Orzammar?” Gideon asked.

“The Legion of the Dead go wherever we’re needed,” Sigrun answered with a shrug.

Anders looked at her curiously. “What’s the Legion of the Dead?”

She turned to him. “We’re a group of warriors, mostly casteless—or commoners, I guess humans would call them. We dedicate our lives to killing darkspawn.”

“But why are you called the Legion of the Dead?” Anders asked. “That’s a bit grim, isn’t it?

Sigrun chuckled. “We have to cut off all ties to our families and friends in Orzammar when we head off to the Deep Roads, so in a sense we’re ‘dead’ to them. They even have a funeral for us before we leave.”

“You’re awfully cheerful for someone who’s dead.” Anders said, slightly amused.

Gideon cut in. “That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here, specifically. This place doesn’t look like anybody’s been here for centuries. And where are the rest of your companions?”

Sigrun’s expression turned sad. “Dead. They’re all dead,” she said quietly. “Literally. We were out here scouting, and we got ambushed by a huge group of darkspawn.” She seemed to falter a moment before composing herself again. “I ran. I didn’t know what else to do. Everyone was dead, and they were all after me. I know what they do to the women they capture.” She looked at Gideon defiantly, as if daring him to say something scathing.

He grimaced and nodded. “Probably the smartest thing you could have done. I’ve seen a broodmother before; she wasn’t a pretty sight.”

Nathaniel voiced the question that had been on the tip of Anders’ tongue. “What are broodmothers?”

 “They birth darkspawn,” Gideon replied. “Thousands of them at a time.”

Nathaniel made a small noise of distress. “The darkspawn turn women they capture into monsters that breed more darkspawn?”

Gideon nodded. “Exactly. I think we need to check this place out.” He turned to Sigrun. “You coming with us?”

Sigrun looked at him skeptically. “What . . . you’re just going to go down there and kill darkspawn, just like that? I'm warning you right now: these darkspawn aren't like any others I've seen before. They're smarter, more organized.”

Gideon smirked. “We’re Grey Wardens. It’s what we do.”

Sigrun perked up. “Grey Wardens, huh? We might actually have a chance, then.” She grinned. “And it’s not like I have anywhere else to be.”

With Gideon leading the way, they ventured further along the ruined pathways. They hadn’t gone far before Sigrun gave a startled cry and ran towards a small figure slumped on the ground. “Jukka!”

He was a male dwarf, another member of the Legion, and Anders and the others listened intently as Sigrun spoke to him in whispers about a new form of darkspawn called “children.” Anders knelt down next to the man and looked him over. The dwarf carried the Taint, just like Roland did, and it was beyond even Anders’ considerable skills.

Jukka shrugged off Anders’ attentions and grabbed Sigrun’s arm. “Be careful, Sigrun,” he whispered hoarsely, obviously in great pain. “The Broodmothers . . . they’re . . . they’re breeding.” He groaned. “There’s an army down there . . . they have to be stopped . . .” He let out another loud, rattling groan, his final breath escaping him as he slumped forward.

Sigrun closed his unseeing eyes. “Ancestors look down upon you, brother,” she murmured sadly.

She stayed there a few moments longer before standing up and looking at Gideon resolutely. “We have to stop them.”

Gideon nodded. “Agreed.” He placed a hand on Sigrun’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly, before motioning for them to move on. Anders was a bit surprised by the gesture—it didn’t seem like the Commander to be . . . well . . . sensitive to others’ feelings.

As they made their way further into the ruins, Anders thought about the small changes he’d noticed in his commander recently. Gideon was more patient, his tongue less sharp. He and Nathaniel seemed to be growing closer, as well—more willing to talk to each other than they had before. The two noblemen had been friends once, or so Nathaniel had said; perhaps time and proximity were helping them to rebuild that friendship, despite the damage caused by Rendon Howe.

oOoOo

The Fortress of Kal’Hirol was impressive, to say the least. Cut straight into the rock, it was surrounded by massive stone walls, carved with the heads of strange figures. The party fought their way through small groups of darkspawn to the main courtyard. There, swarming in front of the large stone staircase that led to the main entrance were dozens of what looked like large grubs: fat, bulbous yellow creatures oozing slime that didn’t appear to have any eyes, but sensed the Grey Wardens approaching. Anders held back, casting protective and healing spells while Gideon and the others cut through the grubs. He wondered if these were the “children” that the dying dwarf had referred to.

Gideon was heading towards the staircase when Sigrun stopped him. “You can’t go through the main entrance,” she urged. “We already tried that, and you know how well that turned out.” She gestured to herself, reminding him that she was the only one alive of her scouting party.

“Traps?” Nathaniel asked.

Sigrun turned to him. “Traps . . . and worse. The darkspawn used the Fortress’ defenses against us. It was . . . terrible.”

Gideon made a noise of irritation. “Then how are we supposed to get in?”

“There should be a side entrance somewhere,” Sigrun replied. “Most dwarven fortresses have one; we just have to find it.”

As they searched the walls for a hidden entrance, Anders listened idly to Nathaniel and Gideon talking. “Were those things darkspawn?” Nathaniel asked.

Gideon nodded. “I think so. But I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

Nathaniel looked at him, surprised. “A new breed of darkspawn? How is that even possible? We aren’t even in a Blight.”

The Commander frowned. “I don’t know. The further we get into this, the stranger things get. And I’m not exactly an expert on Blights or darkspawn, either. I’ve only been a Grey Warden for a couple years.”

That seemed so strange to Anders, especially knowing how much “The Hero of Ferelden” had accomplished in that relatively short time period. He hadn’t known Gideon for very long, granted, but the man seemed to be born for the position of Commander of the Grey Wardens.

Sigrun called to them from where she had been searching along the west wall. As they joined her, she pointed to one of those strange heads carved into the stone. “Look there. I think there’s a lever inside its mouth.”

Anders peered into the dark recess and did indeed see something hidden in the very back.

“It’s either a lever or a trap,” Nathaniel commented, moving close to Anders and peering in. Anders felt a tiny shiver crawl up his spine as he felt Nathaniel’s warm breath flutter against his ear. The soft tang of rosemary and leather were enough to make him swoon, and he had to fight the urge to close the distance between them and just _kiss the man already_.

He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of Sigrun’s voice. “That’s why I didn’t stick my hand in there. I’m not very good at disarming traps.”

Anders grinned. “I vote Oghren should do it.”

A scowl poked through Oghren’s beard. “No way am I stickin’ my hand in some gargoyle’s mouth.”

Nathaniel stepped forward, still peering intently into the statue’s mouth. He cautiously stretched his hand out.

“Nathaniel . . .” Anders watched the rogue uneasily. “I’m not exactly sure that’s the best idea.” Nathaniel ignored him, of course, and reached in to pull at the lever. There was a loud grinding sound, and they watched as a large section of the wall next to the statue disappeared into the ground. Anders looked at the space where an apparently solid stone wall had once stood. “Huh. Nice trick.”

They stepped into the area that had been hidden behind the wall and saw a large opening to their right. “Looks like a hidden entry to me,” Gideon commented dryly as he strode through the entrance. The others filed in after him.

A short, downward-sloping tunnel led to what appeared to be the main hall of the Fortress. The vast room was lit by a few braziers anchored to the walls, which seemed awfully strange to Anders. Darkspawn were supposed to be mindless beings that dwelled in the dark, yet the ones occupying this place had gone to the trouble to light all of these fires. Not that he was complaining, mind you; his claustrophobia was already starting to take hold. As big as the room was, there was still the fact that they were now standing beneath a few hundred feet of rock, not to mention the fact that the hall was so huge that the small pockets of light weren’t enough to banish the dark completely.

It was apparent almost immediately that Micah and Colbert—the men in Amaranthine who had told Gideon of the swarm of darkspawn rising out of this place—had not been exaggerating. No sooner had they stepped inside the cavernous room than they were set upon. Anders let out a deep sigh as everyone took their usual positions. He had a feeling that their journey through Kal’Hirol was going to be a long one.

He quickly upgraded that assessment to dangerous as well. It seemed to take ages for them to finally clear this portion of the hall, and it didn’t help that a few of the golems lining the walls had come to life to attack them as well. By the time the last death rattle sounded, Anders was exhausted. He’d had to down a lyrium potion in the middle of battle, and he was a bit worried that he would go through his finite supply all too quickly.

Blissfully, Gideon suggested they all take a break. Oghren sat down heavily on the floor, pulling out his small hip flask and taking a large swig from it, while Gideon rummaged around the room, searching the corpses for supplies. Anders decided to help, as there might be a chance some of the genlock casters had been carrying lyrium potions with them.

He took a few steps into a portion of the room where the golems had been resting when he suddenly felt a hand grab his arm. He looked behind him to see Nathaniel, his face grim.

“Be careful, Mage. There are pressure traps all over the floor.” He pointed to a few tiles that were no more than an inch or two higher than the floor—they blended in so well that Anders never would have noticed them had Nathaniel not pointed them out.  “Go sit down,” Nathaniel said, not unkindly. “I’ll see if there are any potions around for you.” Anders looked at him with surprise, before nodding his head and joining Oghren, who was attempting to flirt with Sigrun. Given the look of distaste on Sigrun’s face, Oghren wasn’t having much luck. As he sat down, Anders reflected, not for the first time, on how easily the rogue seemed to read him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that Nathaniel was obviously watching him intently. He’d had his fill of constant scrutiny while in the Circle. Nathaniel didn’t seem to be suspicious of the mage, however. His interest seemed to be more altruistic than that.

After about fifteen minutes, Gideon called for them to head out. As Anders stood up, slinging his staff onto his back once again, Nathaniel approached him. “Here.” He held out his hand, showing Anders the three lyrium potions he’d found.

Anders took them with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

Nathaniel nodded curtly before calling the rest of the group over. “I don’t want to set off any of the traps. They may be useful in catching up any darkspawn that wander through here again . . .” He looked at Gideon uncertainly.

The Commander nodded his head in understanding. “You’re the expert when it comes to traps—tell us what to do.”

Nathaniel smiled at him, clearly relieved that he wouldn’t have to argue with their leader. “The worst concentration is over there.” He pointed to the area that Anders had nearly walked into earlier, right in front of the door leading into the next section of the Fortress. “I suggest we walk single file, with me in the lead. If everyone follows in my footsteps as closely as they can, we can keep from setting any of the traps off.”

“Sounds good,” Gideon said. “Lead the way.”

Nathaniel nodded and stepped slowly through the room, the four others following close behind. Anders breathed a sigh of relief when they made it to the door without incident.

As Anders passed through, he found himself wondering what other surprises the old fortress of Kal’Hirol had in store for them.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta, Olndina, for prodding me to indulge my love of character development.

A few hours of journeying through Kal’Hirol and Anders felt like he’d finally come to understand the word "massive.” Never had that word felt so apt as it did when trying to describe the enormity of Kal’Hirol. Their progress was slow, the dwarven fortress fairly swarming with droves of darkspawn. He welcomed the fights, though; they kept him from dwelling on how dark and . . . _heavy . . ._ this place felt. As large as it was, Kal’Hirol was still underground, still dark, still stifling.

They rounded a corner, entering yet another section of the main hall, and Sigrun let out a loud gasp. “By the Stone . . .” There, in front of them, was a group of ghostly figures: dwarves and darkspawn fighting each other. The faint clashing of steel on steel echoed through the room, blending with the sounds of men grunting with the exertion of fighting.

“What in the Maker’s name is that?” Nathaniel asked, his voice hushed. “Are they real?”

Anders shrugged. “As real as anything else from the Fade. The Veil must be thin here.” He suppressed a shudder; this place was just getting better and better.

Further and further they pressed into the room, encountering more groups of dwarves and darkspawn locked in eternal battle.  Unfortunately, there were still plenty of live darkspawn around for them to deal with as well.

They fought their way through to a large staircase and descended it. At the bottom was probably the strangest sight Anders had ever seen outside of the Fade: a group of about two dozen dwarven ghosts, all gathered around a platform on which stood a fully armored dwarf. As they neared, they could hear the warrior’s speech. “For generations, they have told you that you were nothing,” the warrior’s voice echoed through the hall, “swept away like so much dust. Now you are the only thing standing between them and the darkspawn that threaten our empire. Show them that you are not nothing! Show them that you can be warriors! Let the Stone tremble with the thunder of your footsteps! Fight!”

The sound of two dozen voices roared through the hall as the ghosts cheered on the warrior. Anders turned his head to watch Sigrun standing in front of one of the cheering dwarves, a strange expression on her face. Anders moved beside her to try and see whatever it was on the ghost’s face that had Sigrun’s rapt attention. The only thing he could see that really stood out was the silvery-white lines on the right side of the man’s face; a ghostly tattoo that resembled the one that Sigrun wore. “They were casteless,” she whispered, surprise clear in her voice.

Anders looked at her questioningly. “Is that a big deal?”

Sigrun nodded her head, still staring at the ghost. “The casteless are the lowest of dwarves,” her face twisted in anger. “Or at least, that’s what the others say. We aren’t allowed to take up arms or fight.”

“You’re fighting,” Nathaniel pointed out.

“The Legion of the Dead is the only exception,” Sigrun answered. “Once we become a part of the Legion, we go down into the Deep Roads, never to return. It’s a death sentence, like I said. No one really cares if the dead bear arms, and it gets us lowlife casteless out of the _real_ dwarves’ way.” Oghren gave a loud snort, and he looked as if he was going to say something until Sigrun glared at him. “Don’t you start, either.” Oghren grumbled a bit into his beard, but didn’t say anything out loud. Anders had never really talked to him about his life in Orzammar, but the fact that he didn’t have a tattoo on his face probably meant that he hadn’t been casteless. Anders wondered if he was among the dwarves who thought the casteless were "lowlifes.” If he was, it didn’t seem to detract from his staring at Sigrun lecherously every time they had a break in killing darkspawn.

As they left the place where the ghosts were gathered, Nathaniel fell in step with Sigrun. Anders followed behind them, close enough to hear their conversation.

“Are the casteless really that reviled?” Nathaniel asked.

“In most dwarves’ eyes, we’re scum,” Sigrun said matter-of-factly. “We’re the lowest of the low. We can’t be smiths, or warriors, or hold any other type of job. We’re born with nothing and we die with even less. I grew up in Orzammar, in a place called Dust Town. It was filthy, and overrun with thieves and beggars. We had to fight to survive, to put food in our mouths.”

“I’m sorry,” Nathaniel said, his tone earnest. “I didn’t realize . . .”

Sigrun let out a surprisingly cheerful laugh. “It’s all right, I’m used to it.” She turned her head and Anders could see her smile as she clapped Nathaniel on the back amicably. Anders couldn’t help but reflect that due to Sigrun’s shortness, if she’d gone any lower with her hand she would have been smacking Nathaniel’s arse.

Gideon joined in on their conversation. “Given what we just saw, it looks like someone here thought the casteless were worth something. Judging from his armor, I’d say the one on the dais was a member of the warrior caste—and he was calling on them to take up arms against the darkspawn.”

“Not all dwarves think the casteless are worthless.” Oghren turned around from where he’d been walking ahead of everyone and winked slyly at Sigrun. Anders could have sworn he heard her make a small retching sound.

They continued onward, encountering small groups of ghosts here and there: a mother talking with her daughter about escaping; two men arguing about how they’d all been left to die, and why they should or should not help fight; a warrior arguing with a commoner, trying to convince him to help fight the darkspawn. It was eerie to watch these dwarves having what were most likely the last conversations of their lives, and the fact that the ghosts would disappear and reappear was not exactly helping.

As the Wardens advanced further through the hall, the light grew dimmer and the ceiling seemed to be slowly descending—or at least that was how it felt to Anders. The air was stale and close, not a breath of wind stirred, and without any windows in this damnable place there wasn’t any chance of that changing. Nor was there any way for them to tell whether it was day or night, or how long they’d been underground. It felt to Anders like an eternity, and he found himself becoming more and more jumpy as time passed.

He tried hard to keep his fears to himself, not wanting the others (and by others, he meant Nathaniel) to think he was some sort of coward who was afraid of the dark. He did make a comment about how dark and heavy the place was, but he ended it with a laugh so as to appear to be joking. He caught Nathaniel glancing at him every once in awhile, and Anders wondered if the rogue was reading his mind once again.

Eventually they made it out of the large hall and into what was clearly the main living area of the fortress. They ran into a large group of darkspawn almost as soon as they entered, but curiously, none of them attacked the group. In fact, it almost seemed as if—

“They’re fighting one another,” Gideon said with surprise.

“Good,” Oghren grunted. “Less work for us.”

Anders shrugged; the dwarf had a point, though he could tell Gideon was more than a little interested in this turn of events. No matter, though: darkspawn were darkspawn—it couldn’t be possible for any of them to be on the side of the Wardens.

It was worse in this quarter, even after they’d cut down the last of their enemies. It was darker, and the rooms they passed through were small and cramped. The air was no longer stale. It was completely gone. It felt as if someone was holding a heavy cloth over his nose, and Anders could feel himself struggling for breath. There was no air, no wind, they were all going to suffocate . . . they’d die down here in the dark and no one would know, their bones would just rot away—

“Are you all right?” A quiet voice startled him from his thoughts. Anders’ eyes had been cast up at the ceiling, wishing fervently for a hole to magically appear in the rock to let in some air and light. He looked down to see Nathaniel walking beside him.

“I’m fine.” He laughed shakily. “Why?”

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “You’re sweating, and you look like you can’t breathe.”

Anders inwardly winced—sometimes he really disliked how observant the other man could be. “I just . . . I have a little problem with enclosed spaces. I, uh, don’t like them.”

Nathaniel nodded his understanding. “I can’t say I like the idea of there being several tons of rock right over our heads.”

Anders shuddered. “Maker, don’t remind me of that.”

“Sorry.” Nathaniel smiled at him apologetically. “I’m not very good at comforting others.”

Anders chuckled weakly. “It’s all right, I’m not that good at _being_ comforted.”

“We make a good pair, then.” With those cryptic words, Nathaniel picked up his pace to speak with Gideon, leaving Anders to wonder whether or not that statement had a double meaning.

There was a loud shout from Oghren, beckoning them into one of the rooms on the east side of the district. Gideon and the others hurried forward, expecting trouble. All they found, however, was Oghren squatting down in front of a large stone tablet.

Gideon scowled, obviously irritated at the false alarm. “What is it?”

“Names,” Oghren said. “A whole bunch of ‘em.”

Sigrun knelt down next to him, reading the legend carved at the top of the tablet: “‘May the Stone remember the defenders of Kal’Hirol, who were born casteless and died warriors.’ By the Ancestors . . .” She looked up at Gideon. “It’s a list of names of the casteless—all the ones who took up arms here to fight the darkspawn. That warrior, Dailan, carved their names into the stone.”

“Is that significant?” Nathaniel asked from where he was standing behind Gideon.

Sigrun nodded. “He wanted them to be remembered as members of the warrior caste. That’s . . . unheard of. For a casteless to be promoted into a caste. I didn’t even know it was possible.”

She looked at Gideon imploringly. “We have to show this to someone. It needs to be recorded at the Shaperate in Orzammar.”

Anders snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think any of our packs are big enough . . .”

Gideon cast him a stern look before turning back to Sigrun. “Unfortunately, he’s right. That thing’s too heavy for us to carry out of here by ourselves.”

Sigrun opened her mouth, most likely to protest, but the Commander cut her off. “I know how important this thing is, and we’ll get it out of here, I promise. As soon as we get back to Vigil’s Keep, I’ll bring some guards out here with a cart to haul it back.”

“Can’t ask for better than that, lass,” Oghren got to his feet. “The Commander’ll stick to his word, no doubt about that.”

Sigrun nodded as she stood up with him. “All right. I just hope the darkspawn don’t do anything to it in the meantime.”

“I think they’ve got more pressing things to concern themselves with,” Gideon smiled wryly.

Oghren chuckled. “Aye, they’re too busy fighting us and each other to worry about a piece of stone. It’ll be safe enough here.”

Sigrun nodded, clearly reluctant to leave it, but aware that they had no choice for the time being. “You’ll make sure it gets back to Orzammar, right?”

Gideon nodded. “I promise.”

oOoOo

The Commander decided to make camp on the other side of a short stone bridge. Anders really, really didn’t like the idea of sleeping down there, but everyone was exhausted from hours of nearly non-stop fighting. None of them had any idea of what time it was, but it had been early afternoon when they’d gone into the fortress. It must be past nightfall by now.

Nathaniel constructed a small campfire, stating that he didn’t want to make it too large, in case there were still darkspawn roaming around this area. Anders set his tent up as close to the fire as he possibly could, knowing that he’d take at least some comfort from the light that radiated from it.

“I’ll take first watch,” Gideon said, pulling some dried rations out of his pack. “We’ll each take a two-hour shift, so Oghren will go after me, then Nathaniel, then Sigrun.”

“What about me?” Anders asked. He hated being on watch, but he didn’t feel right being the only one who would get a full night’s sleep.

“I’d rather have my healer be fully rested,” Gideon said reasonably. “I have a feeling that tomorrow’s going to be even longer than today, and that we’re going to be relying on your healing magic quite a bit.”

Anders nodded reluctantly, it was a sound reason. “All right, but tomorrow night I’m taking first watch, no matter where we are.”

Gideon smirked. “I doubt anyone will complain about that.”

The five companions ate their meal in relative silence, the weight of this place bearing down on all of them. Nathaniel was the first to turn in, as he would only get a couple of hours of sleep before he had to take watch. Oghren and Sigrun turned in soon after, with Oghren making a hopeful, but misguided, offer to bunk with Sigrun. His reasoning of "sharing warmth” was faulty to say the least, seeing as how the air was growing warmer and warmer as they traveled further into the fortress.

Anders was reluctant to leave the comforting light of the fire, but total exhaustion won out over fear, and he retired to his tent as well, with a word of thanks to Gideon for allowing him to have a full night’s sleep.

But sleep didn’t come as easily as he’d hoped. He tossed and turned in his bedroll, unable to stop thinking about how stifling this place was. Old memories rose up, but he firmly shut them down. When sleep finally came, it was fitful.

oOoOo

_Anders lay in the tiny cell, waiting. He could hear the heavy footsteps advancing towards him, clocking along the stone floor with measured persistence. He huddled into a ball, telling himself over and over that this time he would not scream._

_It was a pointless thought, of course. He knew who this Templar was: Wulfric. The worst of a bad lot, he was one of the few Templars who had actually_ volunteered _for duty in the Circle’s basement cells. He loved the fact that they were far enough down that no one could hear the prisoners begging and screaming, and the fact that no mage would speak out against his actions…Who would believe a mage over a Templar?_

_A faint chink of light shone through as the cell door was slowly opened, and then blocked out again as the door slammed shut. Anders didn’t speak, knowing that his punishment would be far worse if he did. Wulfric was convinced that Anders was a maleficar, and that any words he spoke were an attempt at enthralling the Templar._

_The deep voice spoke slowly as the Templar advanced into the room, “Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.” Anders felt a hand clamp around his wrist before hurling him to his feet. He bit down hard on his lip as he felt the hard wooden cane smack against his bare back. “Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him,” the voice of the Templar rasped. “Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift, and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond.”_

_A resounding crack from the cane punctuated each sentence. Dizzy from the pain, Anders felt as though the cell closed in around him and the blackness pressed upon him like a heavy weight. The cane descended once again and Anders could feel the jagged scream being ripped from his throat—_

oOoOo

Anders woke inside his tent, breathing harshly. His body was drenched in sweat, and he was shaking hard. It took him a few moments to realize that he wasn’t inside his cell in the Circle Tower, but in Kal’Hirol instead. The thought didn’t do much to relax him.

He crawled over to the tent flap and pulled it aside, looking out at his surroundings. The glowing fire that had earlier calmed him now felt ominous. Its dim light only served to deepen the shadows hugging the walls. He looked up and saw the jagged ceiling. Gideon had chosen a fairly small space for them to camp in, and the ceiling here wasn’t nearly as high as it had been in the main hall.

 _This is where I’m going to die,_ Anders thought, as he looked around him. _When I’m old and the Taint takes over, I’m going to go down to the Deep Roads to die._ Panic welled up inside him, threatening to consume him. Grey Wardens knew when their end was near, Gideon had said. They went down to the Deep Roads, for one last stand against the darkspawn. And while Anders knew that this wasn’t the Deep Roads—this was merely a dwarven thaig—it didn’t help. He knew it would be similar to this place: no air, no sunlight, the thick stone walls seeming to slowly close in, and hordes of darkspawn descending on him, stealing the last few breaths from his lungs as they piled on top of his body.

Anders felt his gorge rising. He scrambled to his feet and staggered out of the tent and away from the campsite. He barely made it to a small crevice before he began retching, vomiting up his dinner. He flinched when he felt hands in his hair, pulling the loose strands from his face, but his stomach was convulsing too much for him to pull away.

His stomach finally emptied, he sat back on his heels and wiped a hand across his mouth. He looked behind him to see Nathaniel crouched next to him, his face full of worry.

“Are you all right?” Nathaniel asked, not for the first time that day.

Anders nodded. “Yeah.” He tried for a smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. “Bad dreams.”

Nathaniel unhooked his waterskin from his belt and passed it to the mage. A small, but genuine, smile curved Anders’ lips. “Thanks.” He took a sip, swished the water around in his mouth for a few moments, and then spat it out, clearing his mouth of the foul taste. He took a couple more drinks of the water before handing the skin back.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Nathaniel asked quietly.

Anders shrugged. “Just a darkspawn dream, no big deal.” He wasn’t quite sure why he was lying to Nathaniel about his dream—he’d already told the man a little of what life was like in the Circle—but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. Not down here in the dark, anyway.

Nathaniel got to his feet and held a hand out for Anders to take. “Come sit by the fire,” he said, apparently reading Anders’ mind again, knowing that Anders was in no hurry to try to sleep. Anders took the proffered hand and stood, following the other man to the campfire.

He was surprised when Nathaniel sat down next to him, rather than on the other side of the fire as Anders would have expected. Still, it wasn’t as if he was going to complain. Anders’ resolution of forgetting about the other man entirely was slowly being eroded; he only wished he knew what Nathaniel really thought of him.

The rogue didn’t push conversation, merely offered his presence if conversation was desired. Anders was content to just sit there, though, watching the odd spark jump from the crackling fire. It felt peaceful to be in Nathaniel’s company like this, and Anders didn’t know how much time had passed when he finally broke the silence. “I wasn’t dreaming about darkspawn,” he admitted quietly, the desire to tell Nathaniel the truth overcoming his fear of the dark. “I was dreaming about the Circle, about my time in solitary.” Nathaniel nodded, but didn’t say anything, which prompted Anders to speak further. “The cells in the Circle were these tiny, enclosed rooms, maybe ten paces across at the widest end.” He stared into the fire, remembering that room that he’d spent a year in. “There was no light at all, just complete darkness. And no one to talk to for weeks on end sometimes . . . Until one of the Templars got bored and decided to spend some time teaching me a lesson.”

Anders started when Nathaniel reached out and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He recognized it for what it was, though: a comforting gesture from one friend to another. He sighed quietly and leaned against the rogue, resting his head lightly on the other man’s shoulder.

“I have nightmares about my father, sometimes,” Nathaniel said quietly. “When I was younger, he used to sit me down and lecture me about all of my failings, for hours sometimes. He took great delight in telling me how much of a failure I was, how weak I was. I dream about those lectures . . .” His voice trailed off.

“If it’s any consolation, your father was a complete idiot for thinking you were any of those things.” Anders smiled up at the rogue.

Nathaniel returned the smile. “I could say the same about the Templars and how they thought you were evil just for being a mage.”

That caught Anders by surprise. He lifted his head up to look at the other man more fully. “But I thought you said mages should be controlled.”

A casual shrug from Nathaniel. “I was wrong.”

“Oh.” Anders rested his head against Nathaniel’s shoulder again, his smile returning tenfold. “Good.” He could feel the quiet chuckle rumbling in Nathaniel’s chest and it sent another shiver through him.

They sat there together for a long time, a peaceful silence settling between them. As he absorbed Nathaniel’s warmth, Anders felt himself relaxing for the first time since they’d arrived in Kal’Hirol. Soon enough, the sounds of the crackling fire and Nathaniel’s quiet breathing lulled Anders to sleep.

oOoOo

The next day was worse than the last as they descended further into the fortress. The passageways were narrow, and the walls were covered in slime and had a strange green luminescence about them. There were also strange pulsing pods on the ground that spewed forth more of those oversized grubs.

The only good thing about the long trek through the narrow halls was Nathaniel. He seemed determined to distract Anders from his claustrophobia as much as possible, talking and even joking with him. Which was a great help when they started descending even further. “How far down does this place go, anyway?” Anders complained.

“All the way.” Gideon turned to look at him. “We’re not just in Kal’Hirol now. This is the Deep Roads.”

Anders shuddered. “Lovely.”

Nathaniel was walking close by him at the time, and Anders was surprised when the other man bumped shoulders with him. “Don’t worry, Mage. It’ll be fine.” He smiled at Anders reassuringly. Anders found himself returning the smile, something that was becoming easier and easier to do.

The ground finally started evening out, and they arrived at a long corridor that seemed to stretch forever. With each step, Gideon grew tenser. “We’re getting close, I can feel it.”

“Gettin’ close to what?” Oghren asked.

“Something nasty, I’d wager,” Nathaniel commented dryly.

He was right, of course. They made their way down the corridor and into a large chamber at the end. When they arrived at the entryway, Gideon threw out his arm to hold everyone back. Anders craned his head to see what was going on, and the sight nearly caused him to wet himself.

Standing in the center of the room was an enormous fiery golem, but it wasn’t alone. It had one of those disciples clenched in one of its large paws, while another disciple was on the ground watching. The disciple on the ground spoke. “The Architect sends many,” it growled up at the caught disciple, “but he does not come himself. He is a coward. He knows that the Mother will tear him apart.” It paced the floor casually. “The Mother will destroy all in her path, starting with you.” He made a slashing motion with his hand, which must have been some sort of command to the golem. With no apparent effort, it grasped the disciple in its hold with both hands and tore it apart as if it were a Feast Day cracker.

“Maker’s breath!” Anders exclaimed. He flinched away as the remaining disciple turned its attention on them. “I can smell you.” Its focus seemed to be mostly on Gideon. “But you are no darkspawn.” Anders groaned as he saw it grab the staff it had slung on its back. Maker, how he hated darkspawn spellcasters. “You do not serve the mother,” the disciple rasped, “so you must be serving the Architect. The Mother would demand that you die!”

The battle was the most grueling thing that Anders had ever experienced, and there were several times when he was sure they were done for. Between the huge fireballs the disciple was throwing and the fire radiating from the golem, Gideon and Oghren stayed engulfed in flames nearly the entire time, leaving Anders struggling to keep them healed.  Fortunately, Nathaniel and Sigrun were doing a good job of keeping out of the fray, at least, so all Anders had to do was cast the occasional shields on them just in case. Sigrun continued to impress Anders with her rogue skills, flitting in and out of the battle with her dual weapons, stabbing at the disciple from behind as often as she could.

When they were finally victorious, Anders sat down hard on the floor, completely exhausted. He waved away Nathaniel’s look of concern, mumbling that he just needed to rest for a moment. His stock of lyrium potions was nearly depleted.  He pulled out one of his last ones and, with a sigh, chugged it down.

“That thing was guarding the broodmothers,” Sigrun said. “They’re nearby, I know it.”

Gideon nodded. “Just through there.” He gestured to the doorway leading into the next room. “We need to finish this.”

Everyone chimed their agreement as Anders got shakily to his feet. “Let’s go,” he said, with more confidence than he felt.

The next room wasn’t actually that big—except for the large hole in the middle, of course. Anders stepped a little closer to the edge and looked down, much as he had at the chasm leading to this damnable place. What he saw below made him almost wish that he was back on that rickety bridge; that had been child’s play compared to the terrifying sight below him. Though he’d never seen a broodmother before, he knew instinctively that that was what these were: four huge, slavering, slightly female figures, each with about a dozen nipples lining their flabby chests—perfect for nurturing hundreds of newly formed darkspawn. “Maker, those things are ugly,” he exclaimed, his voice filled with disgust.

“We’re not going to ask them out on a date,” Gideon grunted. “We’re going to kill them.” He pointed up towards the ceiling. There, hanging from four huge chains was a giant spiked ball. Anders wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but Gideon’s intentions were clear enough as he pointed out the pillars each chain was attached to: break the chains and the ball would fall on the broodmothers, hopefully crushing them.

Just then, a huge tentacle burst up out of the floor, knocking Anders to the ground. He rolled aside instinctively, just as another burst up right where he’d been lying. Gideon and Oghren hacked them apart easily enough, but more kept rising up.

“Get to the chains!” Gideon bellowed. “Anders, watch our backs!” Anders nodded as he began hurling frost spells at the tentacles, freezing them. Each of the other party members made their way to the separate chains. At Gideon’s command, they hacked away at the chains simultaneously, Anders desperately trying to keep the tentacles from attacking his companions.

A loud groan emanated from the ceiling, and then the enormous ball dropped. A huge crashing sound and a flare of light indicated it had landed on the floor far below. The broodmothers let out several hideous screeches before falling silent.

Oghren sidled over to the edge. “Flat as pancakes!” He let out a large bellow of laughter. Everyone else let out an audible, almost simultaneous sigh of relief.

Gideon removed his helmet and leaned against a nearby pillar. Everyone took that as a cue to rest and they all sat down, drinking from their waterskins and trying to get their breath back.

Gideon looked at Sigrun speculatively. “You’re a damn good fighter.”

Sigrun grinned at him. “Thanks. I’m just glad I got to help. After everyone else died, I was sure we’d failed.” Her expression grew sad. “At least now, their deaths weren’t in vain.”

“What will you do now?” Gideon asked her.

She shrugged. “Disappear into the Deep Roads again . . . kill darkspawn and die alone and unnoticed.” She didn’t seem particularly disturbed by this grim fate.

“You should come with us.”

Sigrun stared at Gideon, surprised. “What? Be a Grey Warden?” Gideon nodded. “Is that even possible?” she asked. “I’m a member of the Legion, I’m not sure if I can be a Warden, too.”

Gideon chuckled. “You’re a dead woman walking. I don’t see why you should have to play by the rules. Besides, you’ll still be fighting darkspawn, and you’ll still get to die.”

“True,” Sigrun mused. She appeared to think for a few moments. “All right, I’ll do it.”

Gideon smiled at her. “Good. I have a feeling we’ll need every Grey Warden we can get.” He stood up again. “Those darkspawn were taking sides against each other.” He frowned. “I think we’re caught between two different factions of darkspawn, and I don’t like that idea one bit. It means they’re smarter than we thought.”

“So what do we do?” Nathaniel asked, getting to his feet as well.

Gideon chuckled wryly. “We kill the sons of bitches.”

Oghren bellowed laughter. “Sounds good to me!”

“Good. Then let’s get going.” Gideon set off towards a nearby passageway that led, mercifully, upwards. “We’ve got a lot more to do, I’d wager.”

Anders wasn’t entirely sure about the idea of having to face more stuff like this, but he was more than ready to leave this place. And by the looks of relief on the others’ faces, they were, too. He stood up shakily, feeling a little sick; the near-constant use of magic in the last hour had completely drained him.

“You all right?” Nathaniel asked, his voice soft so that no one else could hear.

Anders grimaced. “Not really,” he admitted, surprising himself with the honest answer. “It takes a lot out of you, using so much magic in such a short time.”

Nathaniel nodded sympathetically. “Is there anything I can do?”

Anders nettled at the question, exhaustion making him a little irritable. “I’m not completely helpless, you know. I _am_ capable of taking care of myself sometimes.”

Nathaniel looked at him nonplussed. “I know that, Anders. I just . . . have a tendency to be protective of . . .” he seemed to falter for a moment, “my friends.”

Anders stared at him in surprise, completely caught off guard; he had no idea how to respond to that. “Oh,” he finally managed. “That’s all right, then.” Unsure of what else to do, he placed a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. He turned and headed towards the exit before he could see the rogue’s reaction to the impromptu gesture.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Olndina for her help.

It was nearly dark by the time Nathaniel came in from the practice yard, satisfied with the day’s training. Since Gideon had gone back to Kal'Hirol with Sigrun to collect the stone tablet bearing the names of the once-casteless warriors, Nathaniel had found himself spending more and more time in the training yard. Before becoming a Warden, most of his fighting had been done outdoors, where there was plenty of room to stay well back from the enemy and use his bow for the entire battle.  Spending several days in the confined rooms of the dwarven fortress, however, demonstrated that he wasn’t nearly as proficient with blades as he ought to be.  As darkspawn came from the Deep Roads, he aimed to rectify that immediately.

He looked forward to Sigrun's return, actually; having another rogue (and fellow Warden, given that she’d thankfully survived the Joining) to spar with would definitely be helpful. As it was, he usually practiced alone using the training dummies, or else he'd grab an off-duty guard to act as defense. It was only after the sun had begun to slip below the treeline that he would pick up his bow, riddling the archery targets with more and more holes.  He'd always found archery to be a great stress reliever; lining up his shot, focusing on the target, ignoring everything else around him—it was calming in a way that nothing else was.

His evenings were usually spent in his room, caring for his weapons and armor, or else in the library—which was where he was currently headed. Seeing as how the large room was usually empty in the evenings, he wasn't sure whether he felt irritated, disappointed, or pleased to find Anders already there, settled into one of the overstuffed chairs near the hearth.

“Evening,” Nathaniel said quietly, as he crossed the room to one of the bookshelves against the far wall. He’d spotted a book on Antivan military tactics just before they’d left for the Knotwood Hills. He found the thick tome easily enough and pulled it from the shelf.

He looked over at Anders as he sat down in a nearby chair. The mage had an amused smile on his face as he slowly turned the page. “What are you reading?”

Anders half-closed the book to look at the cover. “ _The Sword of Rivain_ , by A. Gentleman.”

That was surprising. “I didn’t take you for someone who reads books about weaponry.”

Anders smirked as he turned his attention back to the book. “It’s not _that_ kind of sword.”

It took a moment for Nathaniel to understand Anders’ meaning, but when he did, he flushed hotly. “Oh,” was all he managed to get out. Not the wittiest of replies, but it was all he could think of under the circumstances. He opened his own book and stared down at the page, hoping Anders wouldn’t notice the faint flush that had bloomed on his cheeks, and ignoring the quiet chuckle that sounded from the vicinity of the mage.

“Your family has quite the collection of dirty books,” Anders mused aloud some time later. “They also have a lot of books on the history of magic and the Tevinter Imperium.”

Nathaniel cast him an irritated look. “What are you saying? That my family is made up of a bunch of maleficar-loving perverts?”

Anders laughed. “Don’t get so worked up over it, it was just an observation.”

“It was a stupid observation,” Nathaniel grumbled, stung by the mage’s passive slander against his family. “As are most of your observations.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “ _I_ happen to make very good observations.  You just don’t have enough imagination to appreciate them.” He laughed at the sight of Nathaniel’s scowl. “I’m joking, I’m joking!”

Nathaniel found that it was becoming more and more difficult lately to stay mad at the mage. His lips curved into a tiny smile, though he did his best to hide it by turning his head away slightly. The gleam that he saw in Anders’ eyes and the satisfied smile on the mage’s face revealed that he hadn’t been successful.

Nathaniel watched as Anders returned to his book, and, with a realization that he was still staring at the man, looked down at his own, trying to concentrate on the words but failing. He hadn’t been avoiding Anders, not at all, but this was the first time since they’d arrived back at the Keep that the two men had been truly alone together. Nathaniel couldn’t help but be hyper-aware of the fact that Anders was sitting just a few feet away from him, close enough for Nathaniel to stretch out his arm and touch him, if he wanted to.

He imagined that he could feel the warmth radiating off of the other man, though he knew the heat was actually from the fire burning in the hearth. He remembered, though, a night when the heat _had_ been from Anders, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the mage pressed against him, feel his arms wrapping around that warm body, feel the head resting on his shoulder. He dreamt about it each night when he fell asleep, and there had been more than one morning when he’d awoken to find his pillow held firmly in his arms and his cock rock-hard.

He frowned down at his book, irritated by how taken he apparently was with the other man. Or perhaps “irritated” wasn’t quite the right word. Confused, conflicted, scared: all of those were just as apt. It had been years since he’d acknowledged his attraction to another man. The odd soldier or nobleman’s son who had caught his interest had been successfully banished from his thoughts. He was so practiced at burying his feelings that it was unsettling how easy it was for Anders to break through the walls he’d carefully built around himself.

His father was dead; he should be free of the feelings of shame and guilt that such attractions brought, but they were still there. Stronger, perhaps, due to the fact that his father had gone to his death still convinced that his oldest son was a disgrace to the Howe name. The very worst part was that Nathaniel feared he was right. His thoughts should have been on finding a wife and creating an heir, but no amount of berating himself had ever caused Nathaniel to see women as creatures of lust or desire. Never had he found a woman attractive, and the few that he’d taken to bed – out of a need to prove to himself that his father was wrong—had done little to sate his need.

A snort of laughter caused him to look up. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

Anders was looking down at his book, a crooked smile on his lips. “Well, according to this, there’s a place on a man’s body that, when pressed, can cause him to orgasm almost immediately.” He looked up at Nathaniel, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “And it’s not your cock.”

Nathaniel flushed a deep red. “And you felt the need to share this with me, why?”

Anders shrugged. “You’re the one who asked. ‘Course it could come in useful, the next time you have sex.” He looked at the rogue appraisingly, that crooked smile still in place. “You have had sex before, right?” His tone was light, teasing, but Nathaniel couldn’t help scowling, embarrassed by the question.

“Yes, I have had sex, though probably not nearly as much as you. I didn’t exactly spend my time in the Free Marches chasing women.”

“Then what did you do there?” Anders looked genuinely curious.

Nathaniel relaxed a little, grateful to be back on a subject he could actually talk about. “I learned how to be a rogue. Hunting, scouting, fighting. How to make poisons. How to survive.”

“You were there for eight years, right? Must have been hard being away from the people you cared about for that long.” Anders’ expression turned wistful.

Nathaniel thought about that for a moment. “It was hard being away from Delilah, certainly. And Adria.” Though not his mother and father, not really. By the time he’d left for the Marches, his relationship with both had been cold, at best. “I even missed Thomas a little, though we rarely got along.” He felt his mouth twitch upwards a little as he remembered the brother who was everything his father had wanted Nathaniel to be. Nathaniel never begrudged Thomas that, however, though he wished now that he’d tried to set a better example for him by standing up to his father, or at least trying to teach Thomas the true meaning of nobility.

His father had made it clear when he’d sent Nathaniel away that if he didn’t return a better man, it would be Thomas who inherited his land and title. Nathaniel had had conflicting feelings about that. On the one hand, it was a bit of a relief not to have the many pressures usually imposed upon the eldest son; on the other hand, he had been bitterly ashamed that he was such a disappointment to his father.

“I don’t regret being sent there, though,” he continued. “It was good training, and it made me a better man in a lot of ways.”

Anders cocked his head a little. “Sounds like you weren’t happy at the beginning, though.”

Nathaniel looked at the mage, surprised at how well the other man was able to read him. For all of Anders’ flippancy, he was more observant than most people would believe. Perhaps that was the point; Anders seemed harmless in many ways, so people might have a tendency to underestimate him.

“Being sent away wasn’t my choice, no. But it’s fairly common for the sons of noblemen to be squired out to other places.” Though he’d been a bit older than most when he’d been sent, and until that time there had never been any talk of Nathaniel being sent away.

Anders didn’t look as if he entirely believed Nathaniel’s reason, but to Nathaniel’s great relief he didn’t question it further. What he said instead caught Nathaniel a little off guard.

“It was good that you had people who missed you.” Anders’ smile seemed a little forced. “The only people who were sorry to see me leave the Circle were the Templars, and they don’t exactly count.”

“When you escaped, you mean?” Nathaniel asked. Anders nodded. “But you had friends there, didn’t you? People to care about you?”

“Oh, I had friends,” Anders agreed. “But no one I was really close to. I was good at keeping people at a distance.” That certainly sounded familiar. “And,” the mage continued, “it was hard to keep any close friends when I was running away so much.” He shrugged. “Not that I could really lament that fact; I’ll take freedom over friends any day.”

Nathaniel nodded his understanding. “That would be hard I suppose. And it didn’t sound like any of your escapes were for very long periods of time.” Which brought up something Nathaniel had been wondering about. “Were you there during the revolt in the Circle?” He’d heard the story from various people, the most reliable one being Gideon. He’d apparently arrived at the Circle just after the revolt had been staged, there seeking help from the mages to fight the Blight. What he’d found instead was a small-scale war being waged between Templar and maleficar, with many innocent mages caught in between.

Anders shook his head. “No. Lucky for me, I’d already escaped by then. But I met up with some old friends a couple of months ago who were there at the time; more than a few mages managed to escape during that confusion.” Anders smiled ruefully. “They told me all the details, unfortunately.”

“Why unfortunately?” Nathaniel asked.

“Apparently it’s not a pretty sight to watch the bodies of your friends get ripped apart by abominations or destroyed by maleficar.” Anders’ look of revulsion was enough to make Nathaniel regret the question. Of course it had been horrible for Anders to hear the details, seeing as how he’d likely grown up with the mages who died.

“A lot of mages died, many of them friends,” Anders continued, confirming Nathaniel’s thoughts. “A lot of Templars died, too, but I can’t be bothered much about that.”

Nathaniel frowned. “You hate Templars that much that you’re glad they died?”

Anders shrugged, frowning. “Not glad, not exactly. But I can’t say I’m sorry about it, either. Fewer Templars means better chances for escaped mages to _stay_ escaped.”

Nathaniel decided to let the matter drop; he had no desire to get into an argument with Anders about Templars. “So, where were you then?” Nathaniel asked.

Anders shrugged. “Somewhere near Lothering, I think. I bounced around from place to place so much, it’s hard to remember exactly. I’d escaped a few months prior, during another small revolt.”

Nathaniel was startled by that admission. “There was another revolt before that?”

“Sort of. Did you ever hear about what happened at Redcliffe, about Arl Eamon getting sick and his son getting possessed by a demon?”

Nathaniel nodded. “I heard a bit, though not enough for it to make any real sense.”

Anders nodded. “I can understand that; you have to hear the whole story for it to really make sense.” He looked down at his book, absently creasing the corner of one of the pages. “I wasn’t in Redcliffe when everything happened, but I watched the story begin, back in the Circle of Magi.

“There was this mage there named Jowan. We weren’t really friends, but we got on well enough.” Anders sat back in his chair, stretching his long legs in front of him. “He wasn’t very good at magic, actually, he did poorly in nearly every school of magic there is. Healing, primal spells, entropics: he was rubbish at all of them. It turned out that he _was_ really good at blood magic, though no one found that out until _after_ one of his friends had helped him destroy his phylactery.”

Nathaniel’s eyes widened in surprise. “He destroyed his phylactery? Really?”

Anders nodded. “First and only time I’ve ever heard of that happening. His friend, Daylen, helped him and his girlfriend sneak into the phylactery chamber. I’ve no idea how they made it past the magical barriers that must have been set up, but they did it without getting caught.” He grimaced. “At least, they weren’t until they’d made their way out of the chamber and into the Tower proper. The Knight Commander and the First Enchanter were waiting for them, along with several Templars. Jowan panicked and used blood magic to escape.”

“And you saw all of that?” Nathaniel asked.

Anders shook his head. “No, I saw the half-dozen Templars who ran upstairs to try and find out what was going on. There was lots of shouting and stuff—a nice big distraction that I quickly took advantage of. The Templars guarding the main doors of the tower had gone with everyone else, so it was easy enough for me to sneak out. I found Jowan at the dock, trying to figure out how to work the little boat tied up there. He was scared when he saw me, thought maybe I’d come to stop him.” Anders’ laugh was a little harsh. “As if I’d try to stop a mage from escaping. I just grabbed an oar and jumped into the boat. We parted ways on the other side of the lake, and I haven’t seen him since.”

Nathaniel wasn’t entirely sure what to think of Anders’ story. True, he was unsettled by the idea that Anders had helped a maleficar to escape, but he couldn’t exactly begrudge Anders the chance at freedom, especially not after everything Anders had told him about life in the Circle.

Anders seemed to sense his discomfort. “Look, Jowan was going to leave, anyway—I just tagged along. I had nothing to do with what happened afterwards.”

“What happened . . .” It took a moment for Nathaniel to make the connection. “Jowan was the mage who poisoned Arl Eamon.”

Anders nodded, looking a bit sad. “Yeah. Apparently Loghain promised Jowan his freedom if he did it, and Jowan was stupid enough to believe him.”

Nathaniel’s face twisted with distaste. He’d only met Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir a few times when he was younger, usually at the Landsmeets that his father insisted on bringing him to, and he’d never actually spoken to the man. Watching how he interacted with others was an education, though. Loghain was harsh and abrupt, and always seemed certain of himself. His confidence and his conviction that he was always right were two traits that were especially appealing to Nathaniel’s father, a man who would ingratiate himself to anyone who seemed stronger than he. Loghain’s hatred for Orlais was notorious, as was his vicious determination to get what he wanted.

Unlike many people, It didn’t surprise Nathaniel at all that Loghain had apparently sent an apostate to debilitate Arl Eamon. The arl was the deceased king’s uncle, and, if rumors were true, Cailan had depended on his opinion quite a bit. There had even been a rumor floating around that Eamon had tried to get Cailan to divorce his wife, Anora—who just happened to be Loghain’s daughter. Nathaniel had never found out if there was any truth to that, but seeing as how Loghain had obviously gone mad with power after abandoning the king on the fields of Ostagar, it seemed reasonable that he would wish to eliminate any opposition he might have.

“Arl Eamon was cured, wasn’t he?” That was a story told all across Ferelden still—how Gideon had found the Temple of Andraste within the Frostback Mountains and retrieved a pinch of the Bride of the Maker’s ashes, said to cure all ailments. “I never heard what happened to the mage.”

“I don’t know for sure,” Anders admitted. “I’ve been too afraid to ask Gideon.”

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

Anders looked grim. “Jowan was still an apprentice. If he was sent back to the Circle, they most likely made him Tranquil . . . I’d rather not know if that happened.”

There was something about Anders’ tone that caused Nathaniel to shiver a little. “What does that mean? To be made Tranquil?”

“It’s what they do to mages they think might be dangerous or incompetent, or ones they suspect of being maleficar. There’s some kind of ritual that they do, and the end result is that the mage is cut off from the Fade. Permanently.”

“So they can’t dream? That doesn’t sound too terrible, really.” Admittedly, it doesn’t sound all that appealing, but it certainly doesn’t seem like a _horrible_ punishment.

“Being made Tranquil is like having your head cut off. All of your emotions are severed.” Anders frowned. “Mages have a very intimate connection to the Fade. For us, it’s not just about dreaming . . . it’s deeper than that.” He shook his head. “I don’t really know how to explain it. I never actually paid that much attention during lessons. What it boils down to, though, is that Tranquil mages don’t feel emotions, they don’t feel _anything_. Not happy, or sad, or angry, or joyful . . . they’re just these mindless husks walking around, going through the motions of life.” Anders actually shuddered. “It’s horrible—worse than death.”

Nathaniel felt cold tendrils of ice shiver down his spine. The look of despair mixed with fear on Anders’ face was reminiscent of how he’d looked when Rylock had had the sword tip pressed to his throat. He tried to imagine what it would be like, to live without feeling emotion, and found that he couldn’t really.

He remembered something that his nursemaid Adria had once told him. He’d been very small, no more than six or seven, and his father had chastised him severely for something he could no longer remember. He had run up to the crenellations, a favorite haunt of his, crying so hard he could barely see where he was going, and feeling as if his life had ended. He had disappointed his father, and to the young Nathaniel there was no greater crime than that.

When Adria had found him a short time later, he had been inconsolable. No amount of hugs or soothing words from her had helped to calm him, and the pain was so great that in his childish irrationality he feared that he might actually die of it. Eventually, though, the tears had finally finished, and he had sat exhausted in Adria’s comforting embrace.

It was then that Adria had told Nathaniel how important his hurt was. It was only through experiencing such things as sadness and fear and pain that one was able to appreciate how good it felt to be happy. A person, she had said, can’t experience true joy without first feeling true hurt. If everyone was happy all of the time, it would make it less meaningful, and less enjoyable. And the fact that Nathaniel was able to experience such pain was actually a good thing: it meant that someday he would be able to experience great happiness.

As a child, it was more Adria’s soft voice that had comforted Nathaniel than her actual words, but as an adult he understood her true meaning: to feel strong emotions—good and bad—is to be alive. The thought of someone not being able to feel either . . . Nathaniel could understand Anders’ meaning; it _would_ be worse than death.

“They don’t do that to all errant mages, though? I mean, you escaped from them seven times, and they didn’t do it to you.” _Thankfully,_ Nathaniel wanted to add, but didn’t.

Anders shook his head. “The Chantry doesn’t allow the Rite of Tranquility to be used on Harrowed mages—mages who’ve graduated from their apprenticeship,” he clarified. “So I was free from that punishment, at least.”

The unspoken words, _though not free from other punishments_ , hung heavily in the air. It was on the tip of Nathaniel’s tongue to ask what exactly _had_ been done to Anders in the Circle, and especially during his periods of solitary confinement, but he knew that it was none of his business. He also had no desire to bring up even more painful subjects. Anders had already placed more trust in Nathaniel than he deserved, he didn’t want to break that trust by prying where he shouldn’t.

His smile was a bit forced, but at least it was there, and so were the words that he’d wanted to say but been reluctant to. “I’m glad they didn’t, even if your jokes are a bit lacking.”

Anders looked at him blankly for a moment before bursting into laughter. “My jokes are fine, Nate, but _you_ just don’t have a sense of humor.”

Nathaniel’s smile became more genuine. “No humor and no imagination. It’s a wonder that you’re even friends with me.”

He noticed the tiny look of surprise on Anders’ face at the use of the word “friend.” The mage’s lips curved into a smile. “You have a few good things going for you.” He said no more as he turned back to his book, picking up where he’d left off.

Nathaniel chuckled quietly, shaking his head as he opened his own book.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta, Olndina, for her help with this.

Nathaniel shifted from foot to foot, wishing he were anywhere but here. Gideon had insisted  that the Grey Wardens make their presence known as often as possible, which meant they all had to be in attendance when the new arl held court. There were a few different reasons for why he didn’t want to be here, the main one being that it was still difficult to watch someone who wasn’t a Howe sitting on the throne that had been occupied by his ancestors for generations. He had made peace with Gideon—could even call him a friend—but the sting was still there.

Being forced to stand in one place for hours in full leather armor wasn’t helping either. His training as a rogue had taught him patience, but he’d still much preferred being out hunting or fighting rather than standing idle.

He cast his glance around the room, taking in the various people who had come to request assistance from the arl. There were decisions to be made regarding Amaranthine and the surrounding countryside, as well as disputes to be settled. Nathaniel had attended court several times when he was younger and his father had insisted on his presence, therefore he knew from experience that the disputes could run anywhere from the very mundane issue of which farmer owned a certain sheep, all the way to preventing small-scale wars waged between arguing banns. As he remembered, his father was never very good at the latter.  Of course, it was very likely that he just enjoyed the infighting.

He wondered idly how many of the people present were still loyal to his father, and how many were actually willing to support Gideon. Nathaniel felt sure he was right when he told Anders that Gideon would need to be careful—the ones who had prospered under Rendon Howe’s rule would be stubborn to change at best, and hell-bent on revolution at worst.  If he were Gideon, he would handle these potential enemies with kid gloves, and do his best not to incite their anger. He was not Gideon, however, and the commander was not exactly diplomatic, to put it lightly. Gideon didn’t give a damn what people thought of him, or even if people supported him; he was going to do things the way he wanted, and that was that. He was a good man, and Nathaniel believed Gideon would do his best to help those in need, but he had little patience for discontented nobles.

The first few cases were, as Nathaniel had predicted, relatively benign: a dispute over a small plot of land, and yes, an argument over the ownership of a cow that belonged to one farmer but had been grazing on the land of his neighbor. The next one, however, had Nathaniel coming to attention. The man was named Alec, a peasant whose family had suffered greatly due to the Blight. It was a common tale, unfortunately. A lot of land throughout Ferelden had been destroyed by the large swarms of darkspawn that had invaded. Not only had many people died, but crops had been lost, livestock killed, homes destroyed . . . lives changed forever.

Alec had been caught stealing a few bushels of grain that had been bound for the garrison in Amaranthine; in other words, he had stolen from the Crown, a serious crime. “Please, my Lord,” Alec stood before Gideon, begging. “All of my sheep were slaughtered by the darkspawn, my family was starving.” From Nathaniel’s position behind the throne, he could tell that the man was close to tears. “I could not bear to see my children die because I had no food to give them. I beg you to have mercy on me.”

Seneschal Varel leaned in close to Gideon. “It’s a wretched affair, Commander; stealing from the Crown is punishable by death. If he’d stolen from anyone else, he’d have escaped with a mere flogging.” Nathaniel’s expression darkened at Varel’s words, and he wondered had the seneschal ever been at the receiving end of a flogging if he would still be so flippant about it.

Gideon studied the sheepherder intently. “I’ve no intention of letting someone hang for mere theft, no matter what the circumstances.” He paused for a moment, thinking, and Nathaniel could feel his stomach churning. If Gideon was even considering the idea of—

“Commander, may I have a word with you?” Nathaniel asked urgently.

Gideon turned to look at him, frowning. “I’m kind of busy here.”

“Please, my lord, it cannot wait.” He made sure to over-emphasize the title, even if it was bitter in Nathaniel’s mouth, and he knew Gideon would get his meaning: this was a matter to be discussed with the arl, not with a friend or even a commander. Gideon nodded before rising from the throne and following Nathaniel to a more secluded area of the room; both men were aware that all eyes were following them.

“Alright, what’s this about?”

Nathaniel swallowed, his eyes darting to the sheepherder. He decided to get right to the point. “Are you going to have him flogged?”

Gideon actually looked taken aback by the question. “It _is_ the standard punishment for theft . . .”

Nathaniel frowned. “That’s not exactly an answer.”

The commander folded his arms. “Why are you asking me about this? Do you want me to just let him go free? I didn’t even do that for _you_ , Nathaniel.”

Nathaniel grimaced at the reminder, both of his crime and of his “punishment” of being conscripted into the Wardens. He did agree with Gideon, more or less—Alec committed a crime, and to let him just go free could set a bad precedent. But exceptions could—and _should_ —in his mind, be made. “He was stealing to provide for his starving family, for Andraste’s sake. It isn’t as if he were a smuggler looking to turn an easy profit. And the grain was returned; no one was actually hurt by his actions.” The look he gave Gideon was almost one of pleading. “I’m grateful that you agree he shouldn’t die for his crime, but there has to be some other way to make him pay besides a flogging.”

Gideon gave him a long, calculating look. “This has to do with your father, doesn’t it?”

Nathaniel looked away, saying nothing. He waited tensely for Gideon’s decision.

“Alright,” he finally said. “But you owe me an explanation once this is over.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Yes, Commander.”

Gideon nodded in satisfaction before returning to the proceedings, acting as if there’d never been an interruption. He addressed Alec. “You’ll join the army. That should be penance enough for your crimes, and you’ll earn a stipend to support your family.”

Alec looked as if he was in shock. “Th-thank you, my lord,” he stammered. “I will serve you faithfully.  I will give my life for you if it is called for.” To Nathaniel’s surprise, the man actually knelt down, his head inclined lowly. “Thank you, ser, thank you. You are a kind man, indeed. I shall tell all of how kind and great you are.” He was still praising and thanking Gideon as he was brought to his feet and led out of the room by one of the footmen.

Gideon chuckled lowly. “That might have been worth it for the ego boost alone.” Nathaniel hid a smile; he knew that Gideon Cousland was probably the last person in Thedas who’d actively seek a boost to his ego.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nathaniel saw Anders sidling over to him from where he’d been standing near the far wall next to Sigrun. “What’s going on?” Anders whispered.

Nathaniel frowned at him, making a shushing noise, which caused Anders to frown a little. “Oh, so you’re allowed to talk, but I’m not?” Nathaniel cast him a stern look, but kept quiet. Anders huffed and moved back to his standing place, grumbling to himself.

He turned his attention to the next case, and grimaced with distaste when he heard the woman’s name: Lady Liza Packton. She’d been one of his father’s most outspoken proponents, best friends with Bann Esmerelle. He knew before she even opened her mouth that she was there to lodge some form of complaint relating to the fact that Rendon was no longer ruling Amaranthine.

Sure enough, she started in on a long complaint about how Rendon had promised her the profits of one of the bridges in the countryside. It was a common enough practice to charge tolls to travelers wishing to cross bridges, but usually those profits went to the owners of the land that the bridge was on. It didn’t surprise him one bit when Ser Darren—a nobleman whom, Nathaniel remembered, his father not agreeing with—stepped forward, stating that both the bridge and the land belonged to him, and that the former arl had revoked all of it because Darren had opposed his rule. He felt that, by rights, the land should be returned to him.

Varel, of course, was counseling caution, stating that even though Darren was a much-needed ally, Gideon needed to be fair-minded in his treatment of the nobles. Gideon, with equal predictability, pronounced that the land and the bridge both belonged to Darren. Lady Liza stormed off, proclaiming loudly that she would be telling Bann Esmerelle all about this.

Nathaniel couldn’t quite suppress a snort of derision; it was just like Liza to go crying to her more powerful friends. He had a feeling that Esmerelle was going to wind up causing problems for Gideon. The oath of fealty she’d sworn to him was more or less meaningless; she had been his father’s lover, and it was obvious (to Nathaniel, at least) that she would resent the fact that the “Cousland boy” was sitting in Rendon’s place. She had already expressed to Nathaniel her disgust that he was, in her eyes, allowing it to happen. If there really were going to be a revolt by the nobles as he expected there to be, he’d put good money on her being involved in it somehow. She’d already tried to recruit his alliance during the fealty ceremony—something he hadn’t told anyone about. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t important; there was no way he’d ever side with her. She may not have remembered much about him as a child, but he certainly remembered her. She was a nasty, vicious woman who practically worshiped his father. He knew less about Liza, but if she truly were going to  Esmerelle with her complaints, then she couldn’t be much better.

His worries were pushed to the back of his mind by Varel’s voice carrying across the hall. “Bring in Ser Temmerly, the Ox.” A large man clad in heavy plate armor clanked into the room and up the aisle to the throne, flanked by several guards. The man’s bulky size clearly showed why he had the nickname “the Ox.”

Garevel stepped forward, clearing his throat. “Ser Temmerly has been charged with a heinous crime: the murder of Ser Tamra. He and his men ambushed her in the dark of night and cut her down before she could even defend herself.”

Temmerly sneered at the captain. “You go too far, Captain. I am of noble blood; you have no right to make such accusations towards me.”

“You were spotted fleeing from the scene of the crime!” Garavel proclaimed hotly. “The blood on the ground was still wet. How could you possibly say you are innocent?”

Temmerly let out a mocking laugh. “The roads are filled with bandits, not to mention darkspawn. Anything could have killed her.” His eyes turned to Gideon, a smirk on his face. “Such a shame, too: I heard she was in a great hurry to get home and collect some . . . documents for you.”

Nathaniel could hear the low growl that rumbled from Gideon, but Garevel cut in before the arl could say anything. “You mock the court with your protestations. Nobleman or not, you are a _murderer_.”

“Enough,” Gideon said loudly, his harsh voice enough to catch the arguing men’s attentions. “Do you have any actual evidence, Captain?”

Garevel seemed to deflate a little. “No, Commander. My soldiers saw him and his men near Ser Tamra’s body, but . . . they didn’t actually see the crime committed.” The words were clearly said reluctantly.

Gideon sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Which, unfortunately, isn’t enough to condemn him.” The smirk was still clear on Temmerly’s face as Gideon looked at him. “Clearly I’m going to have to launch an investigation . . . a very, very, long one. We will, of course, have to imprison you while we’re doing so . . . just in case.”

Ser Temmerly’s eyes bulged as his face turned beet red. “ _What?_ You can’t do that!” He struggled as the two guards on either side of him grasped his arms.

“Oh, I most certainly can,” Gideon said, clearly amused. Temmerly continued bucking against his guards, but with their combined efforts, they finally managed to haul him out of the room. Oghren followed after, bellowing what may or may not have been helpful orders to the guards—or possibly a warning to watch out for schleets.

“That’s it for today, Commander,” Varel said. He waited for Gideon’s nod of assent before announcing the end of the session.

When the room cleared of spectators and guardsmen, Gideon let out an audible sigh of relief. “Tell me I don’t have to do that very often,” he plead to the Seneschal.

“Once a month I’m afraid,” Varel answered, somewhat apologetically. “Hopefully, the next one will be easier.”

Gideon smiled wryly. “I doubt it. I have a feeling I’ll have a lot more messes to clean up, especially among the nobles.”

 _Messes made by my father,_ Nathaniel thought to himself as his brows furrowed. He wondered if the dungeons were large enough to hold all of the corrupt noblemen who would doubtlessly suffer under Gideon’s rule, as one by one, their tried and true manipulations failed to work on the new arl. Rendon could be appeased with basic arse-kissing, and valued those who were devious. Those who shared his beliefs that the peasants and city dwellers should be stamped down rather than appeased were well served by Arl Howe. Arl Cousland, Nathaniel felt sure, would have no problem letting them all rot in the dungeons.

At least they had a few allies like Ser Darren, but Gideon’s abrasive treatment of those who were still loyal to Nathaniel’s father could cause problems. Many of the banns wouldn’t truly be swayed to support Gideon until the man showed them proof that they could prosper under his rule.

Gideon made a noise of irritation. “It just irks me that I have to play peacekeeper and babysitter to a bunch of spoiled nobles. It isn’t going to matter who gets the profits off of a bridge if there’s no one left alive to use it. We should be spending our time dealing with these darkspawn.” He tapped his fingers on the throne. “And I want to know more about those creatures that disciple mentioned: the Mother and the Architect. They’ve got to be darkspawn, leaders maybe.” Gideon was clearly more comfortable discussing fighting darkspawn than bickering nobles.

“You said in Kal’Hirol that it seemed like there were two different factions of darkspawn warring with each other,” Nathaniel commented. “It sounds like maybe those two creatures are their rallying points.”

“That sounds about right,” Gideon agreed, frowning, “which doesn’t make any sense. Their leaders are supposed to be the archdemons, the Old Gods; why would there be any need for a hierarchy among them? And what kinds of orders do the Mother and the Architect need to give that the archdemons couldn’t give themselves through that mind control they have?” He made a noise of irritation. “None of this makes any sense, and it’s giving me one hell of a headache.”

Anders and Sigrun, who had been chatting quietly with each other ever since the court had been cleared, now approached the group at the throne. “Anders wants to know what you and Gideon were talking about earlier,” Sigrun announced.

Anders scowled and poked her hard. “You weren’t supposed to say it like that!”

“How was I supposed to say it?”

Anders rolled his eyes. “You were supposed to just ease into it. Aren’t rogues supposed to be subtle?”

Sigrun shrugged. “I don’t do subtle.”

“Obviously not,” Anders huffed. “Maybe you should work on that rather than spending all your time trying to get me to set bushes on fire.”

“Are you two done?” Gideon asked, clearly amused.

Anders turned to him. “What Sigrun was trying to say is that we - ” Sigrun cleared her throat theatrically, “alright, _I—”_ Anders shot her a pointed look, “was a bit concerned . . . oh, sod it. What were you two talking about earlier?”

“Nathaniel was offering me a bit of advice,” Gideon said mildly, glancing at Nathaniel casually. “Useful advice, actually . . . and welcome, seeing as how I’ve never held court before.” He smiled ruefully. “I was never expected to attend when my father held court; Fergus was the heir, and I was more than happy about that.” He stood up from the throne, stretching. “I wanted to be a warrior, not a ruler. Kind of ironic.”

Anders didn’t seem pacified by the answer. “Yeah, but what was that that guy Temmerly even talking about? He said that Ser Tamra was on her way to get some documents for you?”

Gideon frowned. “I’m pretty sure he was talking about the conspiracy against me, the one you overheard some nobles talking about at the fealty ceremony. Tamra approached me later and confirmed your theory, and she said she had proof of it. She was going to go collect it and bring it back.”

“Why didn’t she just bring it to the ceremony with her?” Anders asked. “It would have been less of a hassle.”

Nathaniel answered for Gideon. “She probably wasn’t sure how the commander would react to the news. And to openly stand against some of the most powerful banns in Amaranthine would have been extremely dangerous.”

“Hence her murder,” Gideon stated grimly. “And that son of a bitch thought he was going to get away with it just because he has blue blood.” The look of disgust on his face was unmistakable.

“So what’ll you do about it now?” Sigrun asked curiously.

Gideon frowned. “Not much I can do, except wait and see. Sooner or later they’re going to attack; I just have to make sure I’m ready for it.”

“You have to make sure that _we’re_ ready for it,” Nathaniel clarified. “We’re all behind you on this.”

Sigrun and Anders nodded their agreement. “We’ve got your back, Commander,” Sigrun said with uncharacteristic seriousness.

Gideon turned to Anders and Sigrun. “Seeing as how court’s over, you’re free to spend the rest of the day as you like.” Both Wardens nodded their head at Gideon’s dismissal and left the room, though Anders cast several glances back towards the two noblemen.

Nathaniel stayed where he was, knowing that Gideon wasn’t going to let him off so easily. Sure enough, as soon as the room was cleared, he beckoned Nathaniel to follow him out of the throne room and into his study across the hall.  Once the door was shut, Gideon circumvented the large desk that he usually sat at, and headed for a small sitting area on the other side of the room. Nathaniel sat down on one of the chairs situated across from the couch that Gideon had settled himself onto.

“So,” Gideon began, “I’d like to know why exactly you disrupted a hearing to tell me what kind of sentence I should dole out.”

Nathaniel flushed a little at the subtle reprimand. “I’m sorry for that. I know it wasn’t my place. But neither option the seneschal gave you was right.”

Gideon looked at him speculatively. “And you thought me incapable of figuring that out myself?”

“No!” Nathaniel protested. “I didn’t mean it like that. It was just that . . .” He sighed, running a hand absently through his hair. He was starting to wish he hadn’t spoken up at all. If he hadn’t, he’d be in his own chambers right now, rather than having to explain himself to Gideon.

“It just feels strange being here,” Nathaniel says vaguely.

“Strange being back in the Keep?” Gideon asked. “Or strange standing behind the throne instead of sitting on it?”

Nathaniel looked away, chagrined. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “But as you said, I have more experience in the matters of court than you do.”

Gideon shook his head. “It’s not about that, and you know it. I’m well aware of the fact that you were the one destined to be Arl of Amaranthine. But you’re not—I am. And you’re going to have to accept that.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Yes, ser.” He glanced back at Gideon. “I saw a lot of things when my father was on that throne, and I suppose today just brought back unsavory memories.”

“Let me guess: this is where you tell me your father was not the paragon of virtue you’ve made him out to be, and that he was actually just as much of a bastard to you growing up as he was to everyone else during the Blight.”

Nathaniel scowled, a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. He kept it to himself, though, when he realized that Gideon was right. “That’s pretty much what it boils down to, yes. He had a tendency to be very strong-handed, and he took every opportunity he could to dole out the punishments himself, or at least watch.”

Gideon raised an eyebrow. “I know you don’t think I’d do that . . .”

“No,” Nathaniel reassured him. “Like I said, it just brought back memories.” He shrugged. “I honestly don’t know why I spoke up. I should have better control over myself than that.”

Gideon actually smiled at him. “You beat yourself up too much, Nathaniel. Everyone’s allowed to let their emotions to get the better of themselves sometimes.” His expression turned stern. “So long as it’s only sometimes, you’ll be fine.” He leaned forward. “You are not your father, Nathaniel. Neither am I. I hope that in the future you’ll learn to trust me to make sound decisions.”

He stood up smoothly. “I appreciate your help, though. It’ll be good to have someone to advise me who won’t be as sycophantic as Varel tends to be.”

Nathaniel stood up as well, smirking. “That’s something you can be sure will never happen. Thank you, Commander, for listening to me.”

“My door’s always open, Nathaniel.”

Nathaniel nodded at the dismissal and walked towards the door.

“Oh, and Nathaniel . . .” Gideon called to him, making him pause. “If you ever call me ‘my lord’ again, I’m kicking your arse.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across Nathaniel’s face. “Yes, Commander.”

He had a feeling that Anders would seek him out later to find out what was going on, but for now his spirits felt lighter; if someone besides a Howe was going to be occupying the throne, he was actually glad that it was Gideon.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much love to Olndina for cleaning up my messes.

Anders was a master at the art of seduction.

Anytime he entered a room, Anders automatically scanned it, scoping out every person present, searching for his mark.  Perhaps it would be the pretty girl with the light blonde hair and ample bosom; or maybe the handsome lad with the trim beard whose large hands that hinted at _other_ large appendages. He’d choose, sometimes carefully, sometimes randomly, and then the game would begin.

First came the eye contact, the most important part of the seduction, really.  Anders would cast a long glance, a stare really, not looking away until he was finally caught. Then it was a quick glance away . . . a glance back . . . and away again, always pretending that he was looking away because there was something important calling for his attention (a meal or a pint of ale if he was in a tavern, or maybe a good book or even another person if he was in the Circle). As divided as his attention might have appeared, Anders was actually waiting.

And then, in a matter of moments, there it was: the smile. Anders would return it with his own lazy smile. Then, if one was available, he’d raise his (purposely) nearly empty glass in the person’s direction, as a sort of toast. This would almost always prompt the male interest to order Anders a fresh drink, and saunter over to orchestrate his own seductive overtures.  If Anders had his eye on a female, she would likely show her own empty glass, indicating to Anders that it was his move.

The game of seduction was truly easy.  In fact, the only real obstacles he’d encountered were outside the Circle.  It was no coincidence that the few times his lovers had caught on to his being a mage, a group of Templars would soon show up looking for him. Sometimes he was able to escape, but other times his dalliances had been his downfall. So despite his words to Nathaniel about always wearing his robes except when naked, he usually traveled in commoner clothes when he was on the run, and kept his use of electricity in the bedroom to a minimum.

Anders had had so many casual encounters, both inside the Circle and out, that he couldn’t possibly count how many there’d been. Even during his early fumblings with Karl, he had never once found himself desiring anything serious. He’d never looked back after his escape attempts, never felt guilty about leaving the other man, or any of the others, behind. But of all the men and women with whom he’d shared a bed (and a closet, a shadowed corner behind a statue, a hayloft, and even a Chantry confessional once), no one had caught his attention quite like a certain rogue had.

And he had no idea how to deal with that. Nathaniel clearly had some sort of problem with the fact that he was attracted to men—something Anders couldn’t understand at all—and it prevented Anders from making any more overt advances towards him, lest he scare the man off.  Surprising though it might have been for some people, Anders was not an insensitive prick. If Nathaniel didn’t want to acknowledge that part of himself, Anders wasn’t going to push him, especially since Nathaniel had become a good friend, and Anders had precious few of those in his life. 

True, Anders _had_ been subtly increasing his flirtation attempts since they’d returned from Kal’Hirol, and though Nathaniel seemed less irritated by it, he still wasn’t exactly responding to it. If Anders didn’t know how intelligent the rogue was, he’d almost think that some of his flirtations went completely over his head. At least Anders had succeeded in making him blush; he definitely counted that as a victory.

Despite that little victory, Anders was far from getting anywhere substantial with the rogue, at least not in the foreseeable future. So why shouldn’t Anders have some fun meanwhile? It wasn’t as if he could just hang around forever, in the vain hope that Nathaniel would finally come to terms with his obvious sexuality and attraction towards Anders and throw him against the nearest wall and, well . . .

There was no shortage of good-looking men and women in the former Howe estate, and Anders was very good at reading people. Very rarely was he turned down, so Anders should have been perfectly content to work his way through the Keep, even if he couldn’t simply sneak out of the room afterwards, confident that he’d never see his bedmate again (ah, the potential awkwardness that comes from a fixed residence).

There had been that pretty little cook’s assistant with whom he’d spent the night, but as she had been far too giggly for his taste, he didn’t really count that one, especially when what he really needed was a much preferred hard fucking from a well-endowed man.  But, other than Giggles, there had been no one else.  True there was that whole rush to Amaranthine in search of his phylactery, and then escape from certain Tranquility by way of the Right of Conscription, so there hadn’t really been time for the long seduction, at least that was the excuse he was going with, anyway. He certainly wasn’t abstaining from sex just on the off chance that Nathaniel would finally give in and creep into his room one night to fuck him senseless.  And while he certainly wasn’t some horny teenager with sex constantly on his mind, he had no problem with frequent, almost- (and twice-, and sometimes even thrice-) daily trysts, as was true with most mages.  One night with a chambermaid did not exactly make up for months’ worth of drought. In other words, Anders was horny.

And regardless of the _whos_ or the _whys_ (or even the Howes), when one of the guards who had been eyeing Anders finally made his move, he welcomed it with open arms—literally. Years of quick fucks in the Circle had made him pretty much immune to conventional ideas of privacy.  As long as the Templars weren’t around, every nook, cranny, and open space was fair game.  So, a quick bump and grind in the hallway outside the library was no big deal.

Which is where Anders was right now, robes bunched up around his waist with a calloused hand slipping beneath the waistband of his smallclothes. Maker . . . women may be just as talented at this as men were, but when it came to a good hand job, _nothing_ could compare to one performed with a calloused hand. Those rough spots sliding up and down his cock caused the most delicious friction, with just the tiniest amount of pain. Guards and farmers were the best, but Anders suspected that a rogue’s hands would be just as skilled, if not better, with hands strong from wielding the hefty bow, the rough calluses on the pads of the fingers from where they rubbed against the bowstring as it was pulled back almost to its breaking point.

Any sense of guilt he had from conjuring up images of Nathaniel while another man’s hand was wrapped around his cock were fleeting in the _oh, fucking good_ of impending orgasm drawing his balls tight and close.

His eyes closed as he let out a quiet moan, the back of his head thumping against the wall behind him. The guard was currently sucking on Anders’ neck at the same time he was stroking his cock, and Anders turned his head to the side to give the man better access. His eyes fluttered open and instantly focused on a previously unseen figure standing at the end of the hall. _Nathaniel._

 _Oh, shit. Ohshitohshitohshit._ The small gasp of surprise that Anders let out must have alerted the guard, who proceeded to pick his head up and utter his own noise of surprise at seeing Nathaniel. All three men froze in time, none of them able to react or even move from the tableau they found themselves in.

Nathaniel was the first to react. His eyes, at first wide with surprise, narrowed as he stalked into the library, slamming the door behind him. Anders grinned sheepishly at the guard and told him to wait there for a moment, before going into the library to deal with Nathaniel.

Nathaniel was sitting in a chair at the long table, a small tome opened before him. Judging by the title on the cover—the book was about stonemasonry—Nathaniel had grabbed the nearest book he could find. As stuffy as some might find Nathaniel to be, even he wasn’t _that_ boring.

Anders coughed quietly, causing Nathaniel to look up, a small frown creasing his forehead. “Something you need, Mage?”

 _Mage._ Well, that wasn’t a good sign. Nathaniel hadn’t called him that in a long time, not since they’d become friends. “Uh . . .” Anders cleared his throat. “I just wanted to, uh, apologize . . . for what you saw.” He offered a somewhat feeble lopsided grin. “No one was actually supposed to see that.”

Nathaniel looked back down at his book, for all the world appearing to be engrossed in it. “Perhaps the two of you should have sought a more private place; that’s what bedrooms are usually for.”

Anders frowned. “Look, I’m sor—”

Nathaniel stood up abruptly, snapping the book closed. “There’s no need to apologize to me, Anders. It isn’t as if you did anything to me personally.” He walked around the table towards the door. “If you want to whore yourself out to some soldier in the hallway, be my guest.”

Anger flared inside of Anders, and before he even realized what he was doing, his hand came up and dealt Nathaniel a ringing slap on the face.

“You self-righteous bastard!” he hissed. “You have no right to judge me.”

Nathaniel’s glare darkened, a hand coming up to rub at his cheek. “I have a right to walk through the halls of my family’s home without being subjected to sights like that!”

Anders was matching Nathaniel glare-for-glare now. “Just because you’re sexually repressed doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with it! It isn’t as if he was fucking me on the table in the dining hall at dinner!”

He watched as Nathaniel’s hand clenched into a fist. He wondered if the man was going to hit him, and for a brief moment he actually felt as if he might deserve it. Unconsciously he took a step backwards before regaining the indignant anger that had filled him just moments before.

Nathaniel looked away, his hand relaxing once more. A look of anguish crossed his face for the briefest of moments, and then it was as if a wax mask had dropped over his face. There was no emotion there now, save for his eyes, which always seemed to belie his truest feelings. “Just stay away from me,” Nathaniel said quietly, before opening the door and stalking back out into the hallway.

Anders waited for a few moments, taking several deep breaths. Finally he returned to the hallway, and was slightly surprised to see the guard still there, waiting for him. Anders used that age-old excuse of “I have a headache” to escape any further interaction with the man, a lie that was actually true. He slumped back towards his room feeling utterly miserable.

He’d been caught before—it happened all the time in the Circle. Templars were ever vigilant, and it was normal to be caught _in flagrante delicto_. It was almost a rite of passage, especially being caught by a younger Templar who was green enough to actually be embarrassed. There may even have been a time or two when Anders had deliberately allowed himself to be caught by the Templar Cullen, just for the opportunity to watch the young man stammer and blush.

Somehow, though, it was much worse to be caught by Nathaniel. Anders hadn’t given a damn about the Templars; even the nice ones were enemies to him. He couldn’t have cared less if they’d all been killed in the revolt. Nathaniel was, well . . . Anders had seen the brief flash of hurt in Nathaniel’s eyes, and it had nothing to do with how hard Anders had slapped him.  Anders may very well have ruined any progress he’d made since Kal’Hirol.

He had half a mind to turn around and go after the guard—to drown his sorrows in meaningless sex—but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He continued on to his room instead, locking the door behind him and flopping onto the bed fully dressed. He buried his head under one of the soft down pillows, and tried to think of a way to make things right with Nathaniel. He fell into a thin, fitful sleep several hours later, not having come up with one single idea.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 16 is on hold for a bit while I finish up a side-story I've written showing Nathaniel and Fergus' past relationship. I should have it up soon!
> 
> Love, as always, to my beta Olndina.

Days passed and Nathaniel did his best to avoid Anders as much as he could. So far he’d been fairly successful, volunteering to oversee the slow reconstruction of the Keep and spending as much time in the training yard as possible. He took his meals later than everyone else, and retired to his bedroom right after dinner rather than spending the evening in the library as he usually did. Anders, for his part, had been keeping his distance, smart enough to know that Nathaniel wasn’t in the mood for his company in any way whatsoever. Anytime they happened to be in a room together—which Nathaniel made sure rarely happened—Anders stayed away from Nathaniel, consorting with anyone else who happened to be in the room instead. Nathaniel did catch Anders casting frequent glances his way, though he himself made sure Anders didn’t notice when Nathaniel was watching him.

He had thought he was doing a good job of hiding his and Anders’ falling out from everyone; he did his best to be polite anytime he actually had to speak to Anders directly, and he kept his voice and expression neutral. Therefore he was surprised when Gideon pulled him into his office just after dinner one night.

Gideon sat down behind his desk, a formal air about him; both his demeanor and his choice of seating made it clear that this was not a meeting between two friends, but rather commander and subordinate. “So, do you want to tell me what’s going on between you and Anders?”

Nathaniel hesitated for a moment, before deciding on the truth. “He and I had a bit of an argument.” He left it at that, hoping Gideon wouldn’t poke further. Part of him wanted to tell Gideon exactly what had happened, how he had found Anders in the arms of someone else, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Nathaniel was having a hard enough time trying to sort out his feelings about the incident, and speaking would likely lead to Gideon questioning _why_ Nathaniel was so upset about it. Nathaniel knew damn well why it had bothered him so much, but he wasn’t willing to share it with anyone.

Thankfully, Gideon didn’t push Nathaniel for details. “Whatever it is, you two need to kiss and make up.” Nathaniel twitched at that, eyes widening just a bit. Gideon noticed, a small smile flitting across his lips. “It’s just an expression of speech.” He sat back in his chair. “What I mean is, this little freeze-out isn’t going to work. I can’t have my best archer and my best healer completely ignoring each other in the middle of battles with darkspawn.” He held up a hand to stave off Nathaniel’s protest. “I know we haven’t been in that situation yet, but it’s going to happen sooner or later. We’ll be heading out to the Wending Woods soon; Woolsey won’t stop bugging me about the damned bandits, and it’ll be easier to just go check it out than to continue listening to her nag at me. I’m taking you both with me, of course, and I fully expect you to have each other’s back, as well as mine. And Oghren’s,” he added, almost as an afterthought.  “Look, you don’t have to be best friends, but you _do_ have to be comrades. We have precious few Wardens, and I’m not going to lose any of you simply because you’re having a spat. I don’t care how you fix it, but do it. Soon. Understand?”

Nathaniel nodded his head. “Yes, Commander.”

Gideon nodded, a satisfied grin on his face. “Good. Now get out of my office.”

oOoOo

Instead of seeking out Anders, though, Nathaniel retreated to the comfort of the training yard. Practicing his archery and swordsmanship for a few hours usually helped to clear his mind, but it quickly became clear that the tactic wasn’t going to work this time. Each time he’d concentrate on his target—whether it was the bulls’ eye for his arrows or the training dummy for his blade—images of Anders in the arms of that man flooded his mind. The look of pure ecstasy on his face as his cock was being stroked, and worse still, the tiny groans and moans of pleasure that escaped him: Nathaniel had been angry, yes, but he’d also been aroused. From that night onward, he’d dreamt of that scene, except it had been Nathaniel with his hands and his lips pleasuring Anders, pulling all of those delicious noises out of him.

Nathaniel set his bow aside with a sigh. He could train all through the night and into the next day, but it wouldn’t be any use. Anders was stuck firmly in his mind. With sweat coating his body and an ache seeping into his muscles, he headed into the Keep and down to the bathing room. A long soak in a tub wouldn’t do anything about soothing his mind, but the hot water would hopefully relax his tense limbs.

To his dismay, the room was already occupied, however, it seemed that the man was just finishing up. It wasn’t until Nathaniel had closed the door and moved further into the room that he saw it was Anders who was wrapping a towel around himself. Frowning, Nathaniel turned to leave. Despite what Gideon had said about the two of them making up, Nathaniel was in no mood to deal with Anders right now. But the mage’s soft voice halted him in his steps.

“How long are you going to keep doing this?” Anders asked, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

“Not sure what you’re talking about, Mage,” Nathaniel said stubbornly, still turned away.

Anders grabbed another towel from a nearby bench to dry off his hair. “Avoiding me, acting like I don’t exist, shall I go on?”

Nathaniel shifted uncomfortably. “I haven’t been doing that.” He finally turned around to look up at Anders, grey eyes meeting brown, but he quickly looked away. Those eyes were deep enough that he could get lost in them if he wasn’t careful.

Even though he was no longer looking at Anders, he could tell the man was rolling his eyes. And he definitely heard the snort of derision. “Right, because ‘stay away from me’ is just such an inviting statement. But seeing as how we _have_ to see each other all the time, it’s kind of hard to do that.”

Nathaniel sighed. “What do you want from me, Anders?”

“I want you not to hate me,” the mage said quietly, almost sadly. He continued on before Nathaniel could protest. “It was stupid of me to be out in the hallway, I know. A holdover from living in the Tower for so long where we never really had more than a few minutes of privacy at a go. Going in search of a secluded spot took too much time, and increased our chances of getting caught. So we took advantage of empty hallways or classrooms, even bathrooms sometimes. We took our pleasure where and when we could.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for not being more discreet, but I’m not sorry for being with him. If you expect me to feel ashamed about having sex with someone, you’re going to be sorely disappointed. I don’t even know why you’d be upset about that. Because you think it’s wrong to be promiscuous? Or is it because you think it’s wrong to be with another man? Would you have reacted the same way if it were a woman?”

Nathaniel didn’t answer, he _couldn’t_. How could he tell Anders that what upset him the most was the fact that it wasn’t him that Anders was with? He couldn’t confess that, though; there would be no point. He may have been willing to come to terms with his attraction to Anders, but he had absolutely no intention of acting on those feelings. They were wrong and inappropriate, and even if they weren’t, this was _Anders,_ a man who readily admitted to taking pleasure where and when he could, with as many people as he possibly could. Nathaniel had absolutely no desire to be a notch on the mage’s bedpost. He would want more than that, he would _need_ more. The adage “it is better to have loved and lost, then never to have loved at all” was bullshit. It would hurt him much, much worse to have Anders and then lose him. It had hurt him when it had happened with Fergus, and it would hurt him if it happened with Anders.

His breath caught. Was that actually what he felt for Anders? Love? He wasn’t exactly sure, really; that was an emotion he had little experience with. But he realized now with absolute certainty that this was not just infatuation, nor was it a simple crush. Without even thinking about it, Nathaniel had fallen for Anders. Which made all of this so, so much worse.

As he often did when facing something he didn’t want to deal with, he went on the attack. “Do you even know what his name is?” Nathaniel asked.

Anders looked confused. “Who are you . . . Oh.” His confusion turned to irritation. “I don’t see what that’s got to do with any of this.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “Forget it.”

“I don’t understand you, Nathaniel,” Anders said, almost sadly, “I don’t understand you at all. At first I thought you were angry with me for being indiscreet, but it was more than that. You were hurt, I saw it in your eyes. And the only reason I can think of for you being hurt by what I did was if you wanted me for yourself. Is that it, Nate? Were you jealous?”

Nathaniel looked away, his brow creased. “It doesn’t matter if I was jealous or not; nothing is going to happen between you and me.”

“Why not?” Anders asked calmly. “You’re attracted to me, you just said as much. And I think I’ve made it pretty obvious that I’m attracted to you; so why can’t we do something about that?”

Nathaniel gritted his teeth, irritated by how casually Anders was treating all of this. “What exactly is it you want from me, Anders? A quick fuck in the corner? Another meaningless tryst that you won’t remember or won’t acknowledge the next day?” He shook his head. “Forget it. It is never going to happen, no matter how much you flirt with me or try to charm me.” He stood up abruptly and began pacing the floor restlessly. “Maybe I am attracted to you, but I can’t help that. Maker knows I wish I could. If I had any say in the matter, I wouldn’t feel a damn thing for you.” He caught the look of hurt that marred Anders’ handsome features, but he ignored it. “We are never going to be together, Anders. Not in any way whatsoever. It would be wrong, on so many different levels that I can’t even begin to explain. Set your sights on someone else, Maker knows there are plenty of people around here who’d be willing.”

Without another word, he stood up and headed for the door. He tried not to walk too fast, like he was running away, even if that was what he was doing.

As he slipped through the doorway, Anders finally spoke up, his voice soft. “It’s not wrong, you know. Wanting another man. Andraste’s not going to come strike you down for being attracted to someone who’s like you. Neither is your father.”

A mixture of anger and hurt filled Nathaniel, but he refused to turn around. Let Anders think what he wanted because it didn’t matter. It was close to dinner, but he found that he had no appetite. He wandered up to the battlements, his favorite place in the Keep beside the training grounds, to try once more to clear his head. It became apparent very quickly, though, that it just wasn’t going to happen. Anders’ words had cut into him, just as Nathaniel’s words had likely cut into Anders. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. The cruel words had tumbled from him unchecked, not uncommon for him. He was like his father in more ways than he would care to admit; breaking other people apart with a sharp tongue came easily to him. It was repairing the damage that was difficult.

It was this comparison between himself and his father that made Nathaniel want to try, though, even if it was too late. As quickly as he had come, he left the battlements and strode down to Anders’ room, not allowing himself to think about what he was doing lest he change his mind. He knocked resolutely on the door.

There was a look of surprise on the other man’s face as he opened the door and saw who it was. “Nathaniel?” The surprise quickly faded and was replaced by what seemed to be forced indifference. “Did you forget which room was yours?”

Nathaniel took a deep breath. “I wanted to talk to you, if I could.”

It almost looked as if Anders was going to refuse, but after a moment’s hesitation he opened the door wider, allowing Nathaniel enough space to slip inside the room. Once inside, Nathaniel looked around, examining the room the Anders had chosen to stay in. This had been Delilah’s room when they were younger, but it looked much different now. As Delilah’s room, it had been filled with lace and satin, and all things pink. There had been a multitude of toys to play with, including a nearly life-sized dollhouse where Delilah used to drink tea with her dolls and stuffed bears. Nathaniel recalled with a smile the one time Delilah had blackmailed Nathaniel into joining her, threatening to tell their father that it was Nathaniel who had coated their father’s favorite pocket-watch with honey. He could no longer recall if he really was the culprit in that crime, or if it had actually been Thomas. Regardless, Delilah had gotten her tea party, though Nathaniel had drawn the line at chatting with her other “guests.”

As Anders’ room, though, it was clear that not only did this room now belong to a man, but it also belonged to a mage. Various herbs and salves were scattered across the vanity table, and books on almost every subject imaginable were stacked in relatively neat columns along the available wall space. A closer examination of books showed that the favored topic was that of magic and mages, and Nathaniel wondered how Anders had acquired so many books on the subject. He certainly hadn’t recalled his family’s library being filled with such books.

“I found quite a few of those in Amaranthine,” Anders answered Nathaniel’s unspoken question, obviously noticing the rogue’s interest in his books. “Others I sent away for, or borrowed from the Keep’s library. There was also a pretty good stash of them in one of the storerooms on the third floor.”

Nathaniel was surprised by that. “I didn’t think my family had much interest in the topic of mages.”

Anders shrugged. “Someone in your family was open-minded. Obviously, a distant ancestor.” Anders smiled wryly. He walked over to Nathaniel, standing a bit closer than the rogue was comfortable with, but he held his ground. He wasn’t here for a confrontation. He was here to make peace. “So what was it that you wanted?” Anders asked. “Come to tell me more about how horrid I am?”

Nathaniel frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t think you’re horrid. In fact, I wanted to apologize.” He took a deep breath, plowing on before he could rethink whether or not this was actually a good idea. “I’m sorry, Anders. I’m sorry for everything I said. I didn’t–”

Anders interrupted him. “Don’t say you didn’t mean it, because I know you did.” The words were harsh, but his tone of voice was actually soft.

Nathaniel nodded. “You’re right, I did mean them. But it was only because I’m afraid.” He looked up at Anders. “I’m afraid of what I feel for you. I’m just–”

Anders cut him off again, but this time it was with a kiss. Nathaniel was surprised by the hands coming up to cup his face, by the rough but soft lips pressing against his own. Soon enough, though, he had his arms wrapped around the other man, pulling him close as he kissed him back.

He stifled a noise of disappointment when Anders drew away, but it only took the mage a moment to tug Nathaniel’s tunic off and toss it onto the floor. Then he was back in Nathaniel’s arms again, kissing him passionately.

Hands were on his chest, and Nathaniel felt himself being pushed backward towards the bed until the backs of his legs hit the mattress, causing him to fall backwards onto it. With a breathless laugh, Anders followed him, straddling his hips as he leaned down to kiss him once more. A few dark wisps rose in Nathaniel’s mind, but he pushed them away forcefully, focusing all of his concentration on the feeling of Anders’ warm body pressed against his.

Anders was moving so fast that Nathaniel barely had time to react. Before he knew it, his breeches had been unlaced and tugged down to his hips, and slender fingers were wrapping around his length. He let out a small gasp of surprise, which quickly devolved into a groan of pleasure as Anders’ hand began to stroke him masterfully. As he pulled slowly at Nathaniel’s cock, Anders leaned down and attacked his mouth, sucking on and biting his lips. Nathaniel responded eagerly, if a little clumsily; it had been a long time since he’d been with anyone like this.

Anders eventually moved his kisses to Nathaniel’s neck, and then along his collarbone. He worked his way slowly down Nathaniel’s body, kissing and nipping every bit of skin that he encountered. Nathaniel was lost in the sensation, every touch setting his nerves on fire. A vague sense of disquiet spread through him, and unidentifiable thoughts and memories skittered through the back of his mind like unknown words on the tip of his tongue.

All conscious and unconscious thoughts thankfully fled from Nathaniel’s mind when Anders’ lips suddenly enveloped the head of his cock. His eyes drifted and his head tipped back, as he let himself succumb to the intense pleasure. Anders’ tongue slid along the length of his cock, lubricating it with saliva before his lips returned once again to the tip. Nathaniel could feel Anders’ lips stretching around his girth as he took more and more of his cock into his mouth. His lips slid down until his nose was buried in the nest of curls of Nathaniel’s groin.

When Anders swallowed around Nathaniel’s length, he nearly lost it. He bucked his hips unconsciously, which prompted Anders to clamp his hands down on the rogue’s hips, pinning him firmly to the bed. Nathaniel lay helpless as Anders bobbed his head, sucking hard.

It didn’t take Nathaniel long to fall over the edge; it had been too long, and Anders was too skilled for him to have any hope of holding out. He thrashed beneath Anders’ hold as he came hard with an incoherent, almost primal, groan.

As he came down from his release and his mind cleared again, the dark wisps came flowing back in. Indistinguishable words whispered in his ear like the crinkling of dried vellum.

He was startled when he felt the press of lips against his; he’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t really registered Anders shimmying back up his body to lie on top of him. He tried to beat back the still-vague memories and senses rising up as an insistent tongue flicked against his lips, parting them to delve inside his mouth. His eyes shot open as he realized the salty taste on Anders’ tongue was that of his own seed. And the pressure against his thigh was Anders’ cock, grown hard from pleasuring Nathaniel.

Anders’ tongue pushed deeper into his mouth, and it was all Nathaniel could do to keep from gagging as he thought about what they—what he—had just done. The black clouds solidified into vivid memories: a furious voice screaming at him, cries of pain. Not again, please not again. He flung his arms up and shoved Anders away from him roughly. He ignored the look of confusion in the mage’s eyes as he laced his breeches back up. “Nate?” Anders’ voice was laced with worry. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

Nathaniel got up from the bed without looking at Anders. “This is wrong. I can’t—we can’t do this.” He picked his tunic up from where it had fallen onto the floor, but didn’t bother to pull it on. He ignored Anders’ voice as he left the room as quickly as he could, shutting the door firmly behind him.

He barely made it into his own room before his legs gave out. His back pressed against the door, he sank limply to the floor. He scrubbed angrily at his eyes as he wrestled the demons of his past. He winced as he felt the ghost of a leather whip biting painfully into his back, over and over again. But it was not just the memory of the whippings he had received that haunted him; it was the look of utter loathing on his father’s face as he dealt out Nathaniel’s punishment. “Monster!” The voice inside his head screamed at him, the voice of his father. “Wicked! Shameful! You disgust me!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over again into the dark, his apologies encompassing so many things. “Maker, I’m so sorry.” He buried his face in his hands, ignoring the quiet knocking on his door and Anders’ insistent voice, but it didn’t matter.  None of it mattered.  The only thing that did matter was the certainty that no matter how much he apologized, there would never truly be forgiveness for him.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta, Olndina.

Anders was asleep when Oghren banged on the door to his room before opening it and sticking his head inside. “C’mon, lad. We’re headin’ under the Keep again. Voldrik finally got the passage cleared out.”

Anders stifled a groan. Voldrik and the other soldiers had been working on the blocked passageway in the basement of the Keep for nearly two months now, and progress had been slow. There had been several huge chunks of rock that needed to be cleared out, as well as literally tons of smaller debris. Anders had secretly hoped that they would give up on the task before they’d finished, and seeing as how there were few soldiers who had survived the darkspawn attack that had wiped out the Orlesian Wardens—and that their main task was still the safe-guarding of the Keep—it wasn’t that far-fetched of an idea.

Anders was good at keeping his eyes and ears open, and from everything he’d heard, few people really thought the darkspawn were getting in from some secret underground passage that led to the Deep Roads, despite astounding evidence to the contrary.  He had been in the Keep the night of the attack, and there had to have been at least a _hundred_ darkspawn raging through the compound.   True, Anders had not been a Warden at the time of the attack, but even the newest of recruits could feel the hair-raising sense of being watched when darkspawn were nearby.  According to Gideon, veteran Wardens could not only sense nearby groups, but they could also measure the distance, count the group’s number, and distinguish among the genlocks, hurlocks, and ogres.  If not a single residing Warden sensed the darkspawn before all hell broke loose, there _had_ to be some sort of underground passage.  Anders, intellectually, knew this, but that didn’t stop him from praying to the Maker that Gideon and Voldrik were really, _really_ wrong.  The last thing Anders wanted to do was return to the Deep Roads.  It was times like this when he wished that he weren’t the only decent healer.  Hell, he almost wished that Wynne, the busiest of busybodies in the Fereldan Circle, were there just so he could miss one or two excursions with the Warden Commander.

He shooed Oghren out of the room and dragged himself out of bed, searching through his wardrobe for a clean set of robes. It was probably too much to hope that Nathaniel wouldn’t be joining them. This was Nathaniel’s childhood home—he would definitely see it as an insult if Gideon didn’t take him along—which would mean that this whole thing was going to be incredibly awkward and uncomfortable, as well as claustrophobic and panic-attack-inducing. It had been nearly a week since Anders’ intimate encounter with Nathaniel, and while the other man wasn’t exactly giving Anders the silent treatment, there was a very obvious, and very large, rift between them now. Nathaniel was polite, but distant when he spoke to Anders, his tone formal and completely devoid of emotion.

Anders had always been a look-before-leaping type of person.  There had been times when his impetuousness had paid off, true, but there had been other times when it hadn’t.  For instance, there had been the milkmaid in Lothering.  Two nights of glorious passion had gone off without a hitch, but then her father had caught them and Anders had nearly lost an eye from the man’s deadly prowess with a pitchfork.  Then, there had been the deflowering of the Chantry sister in the bedchambers of the Revered Mother.  Whilst he hadn’t been caught that time, it had still been a reckless and foolish thing to do that could very well have cost him some time in solitary confinement.  And, while losing an eye and his freedom would have been awful, this current act of idiotic impulsivity was going to cost him something he really and truly valued: Nathaniel’s friendship.  _Stupid, stupid, stupid_.  With each echo of the word “stupid” in his head, Anders thumped his forehead against the wardrobe’s door.  He had gone too fast, had pushed the other man too far, too quickly.  Anders had _known_ how difficult it must have been for Nathaniel to express his desire, yet Anders had practically pounced on him.

He had been so happy to have finally won the brooding rogue over, and was crushed when the man had rejected him so harshly. It bothered Anders much more than it should have, and it bothered him that it bothered him. He’d known for a long time that he’d let himself get too close to Nathaniel, but he hadn’t realized how much Nathaniel’s rejection of him would actually hurt. Nathaniel had allowed Anders inside for a few brief and blissful moments, and then violently shut him out again.

The next morning, Nathaniel acted as if nothing had happened; he greeted Anders casually at breakfast, yet Anders couldn’t help but notice that the other man avoided looking at him directly. He had wanted to confront Nathaniel, to force him to talk about it, but he was too afraid that doing so would hurt far more than it would help. There wasn’t really much that Nathaniel could say, anyway. Whatever demons haunted him, they were obviously too much for him to overcome. Either that, or he just didn’t really want Anders after all. That night could have just been a fluke; maybe Nathaniel just hadn’t had sex in a really long time and Anders happened to be there. Anders should have been completely fine with that—Maker knew he’d used more than his share of people for just such a reason—but he wasn’t. Nathaniel was special to him, and it wounded him that the other man might not feel the same way.

Anders paused outside the entrance to the main hall, straining his ears for the familiar rumble of Nathaniel’s voice.  With the Keep as big as it was and Nathaniel’s newly-developed habit of taking his meals after everyone else, Anders had not seen Nathaniel since that first morning after.  With Anders’ lack of courage to break the silence and Nathaniel’s apparent lack of desire, Anders knew they were destined to let things go unresolved forever, unless, of course, Gideon forced them together.  With one last stomach flip that was part dread at seeing Nathaniel and ( _Dear Maker, I_ miss _him!_ ) the other part dread that he wouldn’t, Anders pushed the door open and strode in, his eyes immediately landing on Nathaniel, who was standing beside Gideon and Oghren.

Anders let his gaze linger on Nathaniel, but the rogue said nothing to Anders, didn’t even look at him. Gideon looked from one man to the other, eyebrow arched, but when neither man said anything, he shrugged and drilled everyone about their readiness for the sojourn ahead.

While this was supposed to be just a quick trip beneath the Keep, with the possibility of an entrance into the Deep Roads, not to mention the possibility of a rockslide or ceiling caving in on them, they each needed to carry several days’ rations of food a potions. Anders shuddered.  Not for the first time,  he found himself wishing that the Wardens were an order dedicated to making sure large open, _outdoor_ , spaces were safe, rather than the Deep Roads.

Confident that everyone was ready, Gideon ordered them to set out. “Where’s Sigrun?” Anders asked, as they headed across the courtyard.

“Doing something with Dworkin, I think,” Gideon responded, “though they won’t say what. Hopefully it’ll be something to reinforce the Keep, rather than blowing it up. We’ve got to get this place ready, just in case there’s an assault.” He shook his head, irritated. “We need more Wardens. There was a reason why Weisshaupt sent so many Orlesian Wardens; there’s so much to do to get this place ready to be a fully functioning Warden Outpost, and that’s _without_ the new darkspawn threat.”

Anders frowned. “You’re not going to force more people to go through the Joining involuntarily, are you?”

Gideon shrugged. “It served you well. And believe it or not, there are some people who actually _want_ to become Wardens. Mhairi did. Besides, we need to rebuild the Order, even if it means we have to conscript people. Though I’d rather not have to do it that way.”

“But – ”

“Stop questioning the Commander,” Nathaniel interrupted gruffly. “It’s not for you to decide what he should or shouldn’t do.”

Anders was stung by Nathaniel’s admonition, knowing that the comment had a double meaning. Just like Anders was himself, Nathaniel was blaming the mage for what had happened between them, possibly even felt like he hadn’t been given a choice. Anders hadn’t forced himself on Nathaniel by any means, but he hadn’t exactly asked for permission either. Anders frowned deeply, fresh guilt gnawing at him.

Gideon cast him another questioning look, but again kept to his usual standard of not prying. Anders just shrugged and offered him a cheeky smile, though he knew it looked forced. Shaking his head, Gideon strode into the entrance to the Keep’s basement, Oghren just behind him. Nathaniel avoided looking at Anders as he followed his commander.

Once they were inside, Anders walked several steps behind Nathaniel, taking the opportunity to study the rogue unchecked, and thinking back to that fateful night. He tried hard to focus on the perfect moments of that night—the feeling of Nathaniel’s lips against his, the press of his warm body, the heady scent of him, the taste of his seed as he swallowed it down. Those sensations always gave way to the ones that became more vivid as the days went by: the look of anguish on the rogue’s face, the tightening in Anders’ chest as he realized he was being rejected, the sound of his fist pounding on Nathaniel’s door, trying to get him to come out and just _talk_ to him.

He wasn’t exactly sure how long he had knocked on Nathaniel’s door, alternating between asking and demanding that Nathaniel open it. Probably just a few minutes. He’d given up eventually, worried that he’d draw the attention of a nearby servant, and knowing that his efforts were in vain. Nathaniel could be a stubborn bastard when he wanted to, and Anders was confident that he could have banged on that door until morning and not gotten so much as a peep from the other side.

Anders shook himself from those memories and saw that the basement had been cleared of the darkspawn corpses and inanimate skeletons. Nathaniel had come down here not long after their first exploration and recovered Adria’s body. He had buried her in the woods not far from the Keep, ignoring Gideon’s warning that her Tainted body might infect the ground. Nathaniel had dug the hole himself and lined it with large, flat stones, spreading a layer of earth on top of that before gently lowering her into it. Though he’d refused to allow anyone else to be present, obviously feeling that this was a task he needed to do himself, Anders had watched unnoticed from behind a line of thick trees that surrounded the clearing Nathaniel had chosen for Adria’s final resting place.

The four Wardens made their way through the cleared basement, meeting up with Voldrik at the far end. He was standing next to a newly-opened pit, a long ladder leading down into the depths. “I told you there was an entrance to the Deep Roads here,” he said to Gideon triumphantly.

The Commander nodded. “I never doubted you. I was just hoping we were both wrong.”

“You and me both, lad,” Voldrik confessed. He leaned over and looked down into the abyss. “This has to be how the darkspawn got into the Keep. There could be dozens of entrances to the Deep Roads down there.”

Anders groaned. “Wonderful. I suppose we have to close them all off?”

Gideon shrugged. “We will if we have to.”

Voldrik looked thoughtful. “No matter how many tunnels are down there, they all feed into this one. Maybe you can find a choke-point and close that off.”

“How’re we supposed to do that?” Oghren asked.

“We’ll figure it out,” Gideon said confidently.

Anders shook his head, wishing he felt half as confident as his commander did. Slowly they began to descend the ladder, bracing themselves for whatever they might find.

oOoOo

A few hours later, and Anders was actually starting to feel a bit nostalgic for Kal’Hirol. At least in the dwarven fortress many of the halls and rooms had been fairly large, practically cavernous. In the portion of the Deep Roads running beneath Vigil’s Keep, the naturally created tunnels were narrow enough that the Wardens had to walk single file. At several points, Anders could have stretched out his arms and placed the flats of his hands on both sides of the tunnel without straining. Torches—courtesy of Voldrik and his men, no doubt—lined the walls for the first few hundred feet of tunnels, and after that there was almost complete darkness. Anders cast a spell wisp to light their way, casting everything in an ominous green glow. Kal’Hirol had also been better due to the fact that Nathaniel had been there, offering Anders a bit of distraction or comfort when needed. Down here, though, Nathaniel was silent, his attention focused on leading them through the winding tunnels.

As soon as the tunnels gave way to the dwarven-built stone halls, the darkspawn set upon them. They streamed from every nook and cranny, grouping together to swarm out and attack the Wardens, and though the Wardens made it through more or less unscathed, with only a few minor injuries for Anders to heal, it wasn’t until they reached their intended destination that things got _really_ fun: a large group of darkspawn—complete with a couple of emissaries—was surrounding the biggest darkspawn Anders had ever seen. Gideon’s grumbled curse of “fucking ogre,” was not reassuring. Nor was the fact that once they’d managed to defeat it (along with all of its friends), the thing apparently became possessed by some malevolent spirit and wakened from its death stronger and angrier than before.

There was a terrifying, heart-stopping moment when the ogre grabbed Nathaniel in one large, clawed fist, shaking him angrily before pitching him into the wall. As Nathaniel hit the hard stone wall, Anders heard several bones snapping. Ignoring everything around him, Anders drew on every drop of mana he had to heal the unconscious rogue. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gideon leap onto the ogre, a battle cry tearing from him as he stabbed his longsword into the beast’s skull. He jumped off neatly as the ogre collapsed to the ground, a grin of triumph on his face. The grin faded as he noticed Nathaniel slumped against the ground.

Anders was still focusing on the last bits of healing as Gideon and Oghren hurried over to Nathaniel’s prone form. Gideon shook him firmly, trying to wake him up. When that didn’t work, he lightly slapped Nathaniel’s face. Tactless as it might have seemed, it actually worked, and Nathaniel’s eyes fluttered open. With help from Oghren, he slowly sat up, looking dazed but fully healed. As soon as Anders saw that Nathaniel was awake, he slumped to the floor, utterly exhausted. He was breathing hard and shaking, partly from using so much mana so quickly, and partly because of the sheer terror he’d felt at seeing Nathaniel in such grave danger. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the feeling that the entire room was spinning. Unfortunately this only made things worse.

Gideon saw Anders’ predicament and walked over to him, kneeling down next to him. “Water or lyrium?” Gideon asked.

“Both,” Anders rasped hoarsely. The quick tilt of the room was starting to get to him, and he felt as if he was going to vomit.

Gideon pressed a lyrium potion into his hand. “Drink this first.” Anders nodded and downed the contents quickly. The dizziness began to subside and his head started to clear. Gideon exchanged the empty lyrium bottle with his water flask. Anders took several swallows before he finally felt himself again.

“Are you all right?” Nathaniel was standing over him, his voice earnest, and surprisingly unguarded for the first time in days.

He nodded slowly, afraid his head might topple off. “I’m fine. What about you?”

Nathaniel’s smile was small, but still there and genuine. “Good as new, though I think these leathers are shot.” He indicated a long jagged tear in the leather of his chestpiece. Anders shuddered. That ogre must have had sharp claws indeed to cut through boiled leather that easily; it was a miracle that Nathaniel had survived. The reminder of how much danger Nathaniel had been in made Anders feel nauseous again, but he swallowed down the rising bile and climbed unsteadily to his feet.

Oghren had moved away and was examining a huge steel door stretching the length and width of the tunnel ahead of them. It was half-opened, an indication that whoever had last attempted to close it had been interrupted in their task. “Hey Commander, look at this!”

Gideon walked over to Oghren, inspecting the door. “That’s interesting.”

Oghren snorted. “You bet your arse it is! It’s a dwarven barrier door. It’s built to block the cities off from one another in case one of ‘em got invaded by darkspawn. The city’d fall, but at least the blighted nughumpers wouldn’t get any further.” He looked at the door mournfully. “It’s a shame they never got a chance to seal this one off. If they did . . . maybe Orzammar wouldn’t be the only city left standin’.”  He spat on the ground. “Eh, what’s done is done. Let’s get this thing closed before any more of those sons of bitches show up.”

Gideon nodded. “Sounds good to me.” He called Anders and Nathaniel over to help, and among the four of them, they managed to swing the heavy door shut. Gideon and Nathaniel turned the large wheel on the door, sealing it once and for all. “Let’s go,” Gideon said, clapping a hand on Oghren’s shoulder companionably. None of them needed to be told twice, and they set off, retracing their path until they finally reached the blessedly cool air of the Keep’s courtyard. It was nightfall by the time they emerged—nearly an entire day after they’d set out—and the soft breeze was refreshing.

Voldrik was waiting for them, looking more than a little anxious. “How’d it go? Did you find anything useful?” Gideon nodded and proceeded to tell the dwarf about the barrier door and how they’d managed to get it closed.

Voldrik beamed. “Excellent! It’s not a sure-fire thing, but it’ll buy us a few years, at least. We can get started on building something more permanent right away.”

Gideon smirked. “So long as there’s enough coin, right?”

Voldrik chuckled. “Money certainly does grease a lot of wheels.”

“And doors, apparently,” Gideon said. “I’ll get you your money. We need to make sure this never happens again.”

Listening idly to the conversation, Anders casually glanced around the courtyard. It was then that he saw the cat.

It was a tiny thing, huddled in a corner made by two buildings and mewing softly. “Oh, look at the little kitty,” Anders cooed, forgetting everything else for the moment in favor of the adorable tabby. He crouched down next to the kitten and scratched under its chin, crooning to it amiably. He laughed when the cat rumbled a deep purr.

“Maker preserve us,” Gideon mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for Anders to hear

Anders looked up at Gideon questioningly. “What?”

“Do you always talk to cats as if they’re infants?” Gideon looked distinctly amused.

“Well he—” Anders picked the kitten up and tilted it to make sure of the gender— “ _he_ is just a baby. Probably just weaned from his mother. I wonder where she is.” He cradled the kitten in his arms as he stood up again. “Poor kitty,” he murmured. “Are you all alone? Are you?” The kitten mewed sadly as if in reply. Anders turned to Gideon. “Can I keep him? Please? He’s got no one else—we can’t just leave him to his own devices. He could get stepped on. Or eaten!” He cast a significant look at Oghren.

The dwarf grunted. “Don’t you go lookin’ at me; dwarves don’t eat cats, I don’t care what anyone says. We don’t even _have_ cats in Orzammar.”

Gideon rolled his eyes. “He’s yours if you want him. Though you’re going to have to find someone to take care of him while you’re out on missions.”

“No, no, I can bring him with me!” Anders grinned. “You won’t be a bother, will you kitty? You can stay in my pack.” The kitten mewed again.

Nathaniel finally spoke up. “Anders, you can’t take him with us when we’re fighting darkspawn. If anyone’s likely to eat him, it’s them.” Anders noted the careful distance that had crept back into the rogue’s voice.

Anders shook his head. “Not if I keep him in my pack, they won’t,” he said dismissively. As far as he was concerned, the matter was already closed. “I can’t keep calling you kitty. You need a proper name.” An image of an old textbook he’d once doodled in whilst living in the Tower of Magi suddenly sprang up. “Ser Pounce-a-lot! That’s your name, alright.” Another tiny mew and a gentle swat at Anders’ nose indicated the kitten approved of his new name. Anders laughed delightedly. “Such a smart kitty you are, you already know your name!”

“He’s just gonna wind up pissin’ all over your pack,” Oghren grumbled.

“Don’t listen to him, Ser Pounce-a-lot,” Anders cooed. “You’re going to be a lean, mean, darkspawn-fighting machine.”

Gideon and Nathaniel both rolled their eyes at the exact same time, Gideon murmuring something about idiot mages.

Anders ignored them and tucked Ser Pounce-a-lot into his pack. Almost immediately, the kitten curled up into a tiny ball and fell asleep. Anders nodded with satisfaction, smiling broadly. It had been a long time since he’d had a cat.  It’d be nice to have the company again. Mister Whiskers—the Tower’s mouser—had been a great comfort to him during his year of solitary confinement.  True, Anders’ circumstances had greatly improved since then, but it would still be nice to have someone around for company, someone who wouldn’t judge him. If Pounce was like other cats, all it would take would be a bowl of milk and a bit of brushing to win over the creature’s undying affection.

As he cooed and fussed over the kitten, Nathaniel brushed past him, heading for the Keep. Anders looked up frowning. There was nothing for it—something was going to have to be done about the rogue.

Leaving Gideon and Oghren to talk with Voldrik about reinforcements and money, Anders headed up to his room and deposited his new kitten on the bed, bunching up a blanket for Pounce to nestle into. Satisfied that the animal was comfortable and asleep, Anders headed out of his room, his face set with determination as he marched towards Nathaniel’s quarters.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An abbreviated author’s note about Unseen Forces and my writing in general (if you want to read all my long-winded rambles and status updates you can check out my tumblr kelcatwritings):
> 
> Yes, this story’s still very important to me, but I’ve been finding myself losing steam. I’ll get my interest back, I know, and I’m working on some other projects in the meantime. I may wind up taking more time between chapters for a while, because I’d rather be slow and write good stuff than speed through it and churn out crap. Thanks for bearing with me!
> 
> And thanks to my beta Olndina for all of her help!

Nathaniel wasn’t in the mood to dine with the other Wardens, even though he was starving. Instead, he grabbed a hunk of bread from the kitchens and headed up to his bedchamber.  He ate his meager meal on the way up the stairs, polishing it off right as he got to his door. Once inside, Nathaniel stashed his weapons on the stand against the wall and pulled a pair of sleep pants from the wardrobe. He hadn’t even had a chance to take his boots off when he heard a knock at the door. _Anders_. It had to be him, after everything that had happened. He sighed quietly as he opened the door to reveal the blond mage standing in the hallway, as expected.

“We need to talk,” Anders said by way of greeting.

Nathaniel hesitated for a moment, undecided. He knew he had to speak with the mage sooner or later, but even a few weeks later, he just wasn’t sure if he was ready to face this. Finally, he nodded his head. “All right.” Rather than let Anders into his room, though, Nathaniel stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him; being alone in his bedchamber with Anders right now didn’t seem like the best idea. “Let’s just . . . go for a walk.”

Anders moved away from the door, frowning a little. “Sure you don’t mind being seen with me in public?” There was just a touch of contempt in his voice.

The rogue walked slowly down the hall, Anders keeping pace with him. “I have no problem being seen with you, Anders.”

“But you’ve been avoiding me in public,” Anders pointed out.

Nathaniel sighed. “I’ve been avoiding you everywhere.”

That stopped Anders in his tracks. “Huh. I didn’t think you’d actually admit it.”

Nathaniel stopped with him, his head bowing. “I haven’t wanted to . . . I just didn’t know how to talk to you. About what happened.”

Anders smiled, though there was no real mirth in it. “You could have just said, ‘Hey, Anders! Remember that time you gave me the best blowjob of my life?’”

Nathaniel scowled, not at all amused by Anders’ crassness. “I don’t think I would have said it _quite_ that crudely.”

Anders cocked his head to the side and studied Nathaniel appraisingly. “I think it might do you good to be a little crude every now and then.”

Nathaniel looked away, flushing a little. “I doubt that.”

There were a few moments of awkward silence before Anders spoke again. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Nathaniel looked back at him, surprised. “Sorry for what, exactly?”

Anders shifted uncomfortably. “For pushing you, for doing something that you obviously didn’t want.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t force yourself on me; I _wanted_ it.” Of that at least, he was certain. Something sharp twisted inside of him as he spoke the next part. “It shouldn’t have happened, though”

“ _Why?_ ” Anders asked, clearly frustrated. “If you wanted it—and I wanted it, believe me—then what was wrong with it?”

How could Nathaniel possibly answer that question? He’d kept the story of what had happened eight years ago locked up tight inside of his mind, refusing to allow himself to dwell on it, let alone confide in anyone about it. Suddenly, having this discussion out in the hallway felt like a terrible idea; he felt exposed, laid bare. There was a storeroom across the hall and Nathaniel walked over to it, pulling Anders in along with him before closing the door behind them.

He stood looking absently at the door handle before turning around to face Anders. “It wasn’t exactly wrong, it was . . . it was just . . .” He cursed himself silently, frustrated that he couldn’t just _say what he meant._ It had always been difficult for him to express his feelings, and he was never more frustrated by that inability than at this moment.

“It wasn’t wrong,” he tried again, “but it wasn’t right either.” He pinched at the bridge of his nose, sighing with frustration. “Or rather, it wasn’t wrong for _you_ to do, but it _was_ wrong for _me._ ”

Anders huffed irritably. “This isn’t another one of those ‘mages are deviant’ things, is it?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “No. It has nothing to do with you being a mage.” He wouldn’t insult Anders by denying he still felt that way about mages, though with everything he’d learned about the Circle in the last few months, he’d become much more forgiving of such behavior. “I envy you,” he said quietly. “You can do anything you want.”

Anders looked in surprise at that seeming _non sequitur_. “So can you, Nathaniel.” Anders took a tentative step forward, closing the distance between them. “There’s no one here who can tell you your actions are wrong.”

Nathaniel shook his head, not moving away, but not moving forward either. “There _is_ someone here. There always will be.”

A look of understanding crossed Anders’ face. “Your father.” Nathaniel’s nod was all the confirmation he needed. “Maker, Nate, what did he _do to you?_ What did he do to make you . . . hate yourself like this?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Nathaniel whispered hoarsely. “I learned my lesson; that’s all there is to it.”

“Bullshit,” Anders said roughly. “Whatever lesson he taught you, it wasn’t one you needed to learn.” Anders’ expression twisted into uncharacteristic anger as he started pacing back and forth across the room. “Maker, I almost wish he was still alive, just so I could blast him with lightning.” He stopped and turned back towards Nathaniel, his features softening. “Whatever it was that he did to you, Nathaniel, you can’t keep it bottled up forever.”

Nathaniel let out a choked laugh. “Yes, I can. I’m good at bottling things up, hiding them away.” _Good at keeping people at arm’s length as well. Less harm for everyone that way._

“It’s poisoning you,” Anders said quietly. “Can’t you see that?”

A feeling of certainty surged through Nathaniel. “Maybe so, but it’s what I deserve.” He held up his hand, forestalling any more arguments by Anders. “Please don’t ask me to talk about this Anders . . . I can’t. Not with you, not with anyone.”

Anders sagged, defeated. “All right. I won’t push you. But . . . you know that I’m here if you ever _do_ want to talk about it . . .”

“I know, Anders.” Nathaniel smiled at him weakly. “I appreciate the offer.”

Anders nodded, dissatisfied but apparently willing to let the matter be—for now, anyway. “So, what happens with us now?” he asked quietly. “Are we still friends, at least?”

Nathaniel looked at him, truly surprised. “Of course we are. Nothing will change that.”

“Promise?” Anders whispered. He looked so vulnerable at that moment that Nathaniel wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around the mage and hold him close. But he knew he couldn’t. Instead he smiled and nodded his head.

“I promise,” he said confidently, and meant it.

Anders returned the smile half-heartedly. “I guess . . . that’ll have to be enough.” He stepped past Nathaniel and grasped the doorknob, turning it slowly. If he was waiting for Nathaniel to stop him, to tell him that he’d changed his mind, he gave no indication. The door opened and Anders slipped through, not looking back.

Nathaniel let out a deep sigh, cursing himself. He wondered if it was possible for him to have handled that any worse. Andraste’s arse, he hadn’t even bothered to thank Anders for saving his life. Nor had he mentioned that the moments of terror he’d felt beneath the Keep had actually been for Anders rather than himself. Nathaniel didn’t welcome death by any means, but he didn’t necessarily fear it, either. The years that he had served in the Free Marches had been fraught with danger, and life as a Warden was even worse. Every time they went out to fight darkspawn there was a chance that they wouldn’t survive the encounter.

So his fear wasn’t for himself at all. No, he worried about the mage. During every battle, Nathaniel had one eye on Anders at all times. It was a smart move anyway, as Anders was their only healer. If he went down, they were likely done for. But that wasn’t his main motivation for trying to protect Anders. The real reason was that, well, he was _Anders._ As loath as he was to admit it openly, his feelings for the mage went far beyond friendship. And his fondness for Anders grew with each passing day. That was what scared him the most.

He was glad that he was at least able to be more honest with Anders this time than he had been in the past, for the other man deserved to know at least part of the truth. It would have been so easy for Nathaniel to continue with his scathing remarks, to tell Anders that he actually meant nothing to Nathaniel. He could have easily blamed Anders for what had happened between them, and declared that he had never wanted it. Harsh words like those came easily to him, but he knew that without a doubt it would have damaged their friendship permanently. He couldn’t bring himself to force Anders to hate him, even if that would be the easiest way out of this mess.

As he wandered back to his room, he finally allowed himself to reflect on the day’s events. The ogre’s attack had wounded him grievously, and the injuries he sustained could have easily killed him. _Would_ have killed him, if not for Anders. Nathaniel had been unconscious when Anders healed him; the blow to the head had knocked him out. When he’d come to, his injuries were gone, though he was still quite sore. The first thing he’d seen when his eyes had focused enough was Anders sitting on the ground, a hand pressed to his forehead. He was shaking and sweating, and his skin was so white he looked like a ghost. Nathaniel’s first thought was that Anders had been badly wounded, and cold dread filled him. It wasn’t until he saw Gideon press a lyrium potion into Anders’ hand that he realized what must have happened: Anders had over-taxed himself healing Nathaniel.

Anders had told him about that once, months ago. How when a mage performed a particularly difficult healing it could drain them completely, to the point of unconsciousness. By the way Anders looked, it was obvious that it was a painful process to deplete his mana so completely in such a short amount of time. He must have put every ounce of himself into healing Nathaniel. The gratitude that had surged through Nathaniel had been nearly overwhelming. Men, _soldiers_ , had placed themselves in danger before to protect Nathaniel, and, true, Anders went out of his way to support his companions in battle, but Nathaniel had an idea that this-this _sacrifice_ was something extremely unusual for Anders.  The rogue wondered if it had been a hard decision for Anders to make: jeopardizing his own safety in favor of saving Nathaniel’s life. Had he hesitated, his instincts for self-preservation automatically kicking in? Or had he done so without a thought?

Nathaniel wasn’t conceited enough to believe Anders’ help was specifically for him.  Likely, he would have done the same for Oghren or Gideon. But a part of him wanted to believe it was. He wanted to be special to Anders, wanted Anders to be afraid of losing him. It was a stupid, selfish thought that made Nathaniel feel ashamed. He had no right to want Anders to find him special, and, in fact, it would be easier for them both if he didn’t. He couldn’t stop the treacherous thoughts, though. Anders meant more to Nathaniel than anyone else had in a long time, and he wanted those feelings to be reciprocated, even if Nathaniel never did anything about that.

He really was like his father, in so many ways. He wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ claim Anders as his own, but he didn’t want anyone else to claim Anders either. Just the thought of Anders sharing someone else’s bed made him sick, and the beast within him wanted to beat senseless anyone who made a pass at Anders. Nathaniel realized how conceited that idea was, but a small, treacherous part of him felt as if he was entitled to such feelings. He had no claim on Anders, though, none whatsoever, by _his_ choice. He had pushed Anders away, so far away that there was no chance of bringing him closer even if Nathaniel wanted to.

At least they were still friends, he thought to himself, and laughed bitterly. Anders had said it would have to be enough, but even Nathaniel could tell that it was said half-heartedly. By declaring themselves friends and nothing more, they had silently agreed to bury their feelings for one another and pretend as if nothing had happened. No, there really was no way for Nathaniel to have fucked this conversation up any worse than he had. But he was just going to have to live with the consequences, for better or worse.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter before I dive back into NaNoWriMo. I'll have a few new chapters ready by the new year, hopefully.
> 
> Special thanks to Olndina for taking time out of her very busy life to help me with this story!

Anders couldn’t explain why he had started singing that particular song—there had been many songs sung in the time between that day in the kitchen and the day when he’d been ripped from his mother’s bosom by the Templars, but this was the one he remembered best. So, in the lonely hours of watch, he sang it.

The soft tune was barely audible over the sound of the crackling fire; a lilting melody that was soothing not only because of its beauty, but also because of the memories it conjured. 

He could not have been more than three or four, so small that he had to sit on his knees on the chair in order to see over the flat surface of the table. His mother had been standing at the counter, singing softly as she kneaded the thick dough that would soon become a loaf of fresh bread.

He had been too young to understand the meaning of the song, but he loved listening to his mother’s sweet voice. She had a talent for singing, bringing out the nuanced emotions of each phrase.

It had taken repeated listenings before Anders had memorized the words, and it wasn't until his teens that he truly understood the meaning. War tears a young couple apart soon after they wed. Far away from home, he’s killed in battle. So great is her grief that she vows never to marry again, nor even to court another.

As sad as the song always made Anders, he held sacred the memory of that particular day, the scent of cinnamon filling his nostrils as his mother's voice filled his whole self. Just after he was sent to the Circle of Magi, he relied on that memory in the dark of night when he was feeling incredibly homesick. Then it stopped assuaging the tears, stopped soothing him to sleep. The spicy scent of cinnamon became acrid, bittersweet in the reality that he would never see his mother again. He would eventually lose the sound of his mother's sweet voice in the drone of the senior mages assigned to be his surrogate fathers and mothers. And, no matter the skill of any castle cook, there would never be another loaf of cinnamon bread to dance across his taste buds as his mother’s did.

oOoOo

He’d known for a few years that he could do magic, but the spells had always been very weak. A pale ball of light to help him read in the nighttime. A small force of will to help his rock skip the furthest across the lake. Tiny sparks of lightning crackling from his fingers. All were thrilling, but nothing too powerful, and—although he felt his mother suspected—he had always been able to hide his talent; he knew that magic was dangerous and the Chantry was dead-set against it. He’d heard the story of the young girl—a tiny thing of no more than five years of age—in the next village over who had become so angry with a playmate that she cast a fireball towards him, singeing his hair and, thankfully, wounding nothing more than his pride. The boy’s father, so the story goes, had gone after her and, well, some said that the man had drowned her in the river, trying to drive away the demon that surely must have possessed her. Others whispered about something called “The Circle.” 

For the longest time, Anders had thought that the Circle was a place where all bad children were sent for punishment. It wasn’t until after he had told one of the younger boys that he was going to have to go the Circle if he didn’t stop pulling girls’ hair that one of the Chantry sisters set him straight. The Circle of Magi was where all mages went to live. The kindly woman spoke of the Circle as though it were a haven for mages, a place for them to practice their magic while under the protection of the Templars. Mages were terribly dangerous, and needed to be watched over at all times, both for their own safety and the safety of others.

In her misguided attempts at educating a curious boy about the danger of mages, she had woven a dark story about how all mages were prone to being possessed by demons. Without the Templars to keep them in check, mages would become horrible abominations—mindless, evil monsters bent on destroying everything and everyone around them. Anders had had nightmares for a whole month after that conversation, and in the waking hours was wracked with fear that he would fall prey to an evil demon. His knowledge was hazy on just how possession occurred, and so any time he entered a room, he would check behind the furniture and peer into the corners, expecting at any moment that a demon would leap out and attack him.

Anders had vowed to himself that he would never practice magic ever again, no matter how strong the desire. As time passed, though, he could feel something strange (what he later learned was mana) bubbling inside of him. It had been vague at first, like a tickle in the back of his throat before his forehead would burn with fever and his body would shake with nervous energy. He ignored it as best as he could, until one morning he had awakened with his entire body tingling with the desire to _do_ something. He snuck out to the barn, just for a few spells, he had told himself. It still hadn’t connected that the strange feelings he’d been having meant that his _magic_ had changed in any way, but it did. Just as his body became more powerful as he grew and developed muscles, so too had his magic.

Always before, he had taken delight in conjuring a small fireball, reveling in the fact that not only could he make fire, but that he could do so without burning himself. However, unchecked, the small fireball he held in his hand suddenly grew to the size of a melon, catching him by surprise. Without thinking, he had dropped it into a pile of hay. He hadn’t meant to burn down the barn, hadn’t even known he had the power to do so until he saw the flames licking at the aged wood.

Panicking, he jumped down the ladder and dashed outside, crying, “Fire!” as loudly as he could. His father and the hired farmhands ran to the scene and gathered buckets of water from the well, and managed to prevent the fire from spreading to the adjoining cornfields. But the fire completely consumed the barn, and it burned to the ground in a matter of minutes.

As soon as the fire died out, the questions began. Anders had been seen running out of the barn, and it was obvious that he had been present. How did it start? they demanded of the child. There were no lamps of oil within the barn, and no flint or tinder either in the barn or on Anders’ person. What had happened?

After nearly an hour of questioning (and a few threats), Anders finally came clean: he had cast a spell of fire. He’d known there would be anger and condemnation at the discovery that he was a mage, but he hadn’t expected the abject terror that was clear on his father’s face. Upon hearing the truth, Anders’ father, a man who had never before shown fear in Anders’ presence, turned white as a sheet and backed away from his son so fast that he knocked a chair over.

Anders’ mother pulled her son into her arms, enveloping him in reassurance. Her quiet sobs broke the overwhelming silence that had descended, and her tears dampened Anders’ hair. The tiny family stayed in that frozen tableau for several minutes until Anders’ father snapped to his senses, grabbed his coat, and stalked out the door, not even bothering to latch the door properly behind him. He slammed it so hard that it bounced back open

After another tight squeeze, his mother let go and tried to continue on as normal. She began to fix dinner—smoked sausages and red cabbage, Anders could remember it even now—and set out a plate for him, admonishing him to eat up, just as she always did.

After dinner, Anders retreated to his bedroom, even though the sun hadn’t even set yet. He lay in bed for hours, tossing and turning, unable to sleep for the terror wracking his body. He had no idea what was going to happen to him, but he knew that the punishment for his deed would be severe.

His father returned sometime after midnight. Anders crept to his door and opened it a crack, peering out. He could hear a quiet mumbling coming from below and he crept to the stairway to get a better look. Halfway down, he saw his father in the main room, down on one knee, forehead resting on clasped hands in supplication.

The mumbling became clearer and Anders realized his father was praying. Not just praying, but begging for forgiveness from the Maker Himself. Over and over, his father entreated the absent god, apologizing for his sins and promising to atone for them. With dawning horror, Anders realized that his father was begging for forgiveness because of _him._ His father had become convinced that Anders was his punishment for the petty sins that he had committed in his life.

Anders retreated into his room and threw himself on his bed, burying his face in the pillow that his mother had made for him when he was younger. His tears stained the carefully crafted embroidery as he sobbed in grief and fear.

Many sleepless hours later, morning finally dawned. He heard a loud knocking on the front door, and then the sound of it opening and closing. Several voices—all male—sounded from the kitchen, though Anders couldn’t make out what they were saying. Suddenly his mother gave out a loud, piercing shriek. Terrified at his mother’s obvious distress, Anders ran out into the room, where three large men standing behind his father confronted him.

Their legs were covered with long, red skirts, and from the waist up they were clad in metal. Anders stared in fear and awe at the heavy steel helmets that hid the men’s faces. He could make out a set of cold, piercing eyes through the slit of the nearest man’s helmet—eyes that were devoid of emotion. His breath caught as realization flooded him: Templars.

Anders looked to his mother who was sobbing loudly, and then to his father. He saw no grief there, only wariness and fear. Anders listened in shock as the echoey voice of one of the metal men declared that Anders would have to come with them. His mother shrieked again and pulled Anders to her, clasping his head to her bosom and begging the men not to take her boy. There were no words of agreement from his father, only silence.

His mother grabbed him, and he clung tightly to her, crying just as hard as she was. A cold metal hand clasped his arm and pulled him from her forcefully. The Templar dragged Anders outside to where a large cart was waiting for them.

There was a long piece of thick chain hanging from the back of the cart, and as a Templar picked up the end of it, Anders felt his heart clench with fear as he saw the pair of manacles welded to the end of the chain.

His mother screamed again as the Templar holding Anders pushed him forward and bound his wrists in the manacles. Anders had tried to fight it, but he was small and wiry and no match for a fully-grown man with the bulk of a warrior. His mother turned and dashed into the house, and Anders’ heart sank even further at the thought of not even being able to say goodbye. But she was back in less than a minute, clutching Anders’ pillow.

Her voice choked with tears, she begged the head Templar to let Anders keep the pillow—something for him to remember her by. For the first time, Anders saw a flash of pity in the man’s eyes. He took the pillow from her wordlessly and tossed it into the back of the cart.

It was then that Anders’ mother had come to him. She wrapped her arms around him as best she could with the shackles constraining him and placed a soft kiss on his brow. In a hoarse whisper, she promised that she would never forget him, and that no matter what, he would always be her darling boy.

The Templars had all piled into the cart, save for one who stood behind Anders. The cart jerked forward, pulling Anders from his mother’s arms for the last time. Her words of love rang in his ears as he was dragged behind the cart, off to the prisonlike Circle Tower that would be his home for the rest of his life.

His father hadn’t said goodbye, hadn’t even bothered to come outside.

 

oOoOo

Anders forced the painful memory away as he quietly sang the final line of his mother’s beloved song:

“ _...for these four winds, and these stormy seas... came between... my love and I.”_

“What was that?” Gideon’s gruff voice made Anders jump.

“Nothing, really,” Anders responded, “just a song my mother used to sing.” He looked up at the black sky, gauging the position of the moon. Months of traveling had helped Anders to judge time by the location of the moon (the mystery of the stars in plotting their location was best left to Nathaniel and his sextant). “You’re not due to be on watch for another couple of hours.”

Gideon ran a hand through his tousled hair. “Nightmares,” he answered shortly, not needing to elaborate. Gideon had told him once that the nightmares were worse for Wardens who had Joined during a Blight. Anders had never asked him to elaborate, because, quite frankly, he didn’t want to know how much worse the nightmares could actually be.

Anders picked up a nearby stick and poked at the fire, watching as the sparks flew up from the flames. He heard a quiet rumble as Gideon cleared his throat.

“I’m not really one to pry into personal things . . .” he began.

 _Oh, great, here we go,_ Anders thought. He had a good idea of what this was about, and it certainly wasn’t anything he wanted to talk about with _anyone_.

“But when two of my Wardens are clearly having problems with each other, I need to know what’s going on.”

That wasn’t quite what Anders was expecting, and he wondered exactly how much Nathaniel had told their commander. “What do you mean by problems, exactly?”

Gideon looked over at him. “Well, I’m not sure. That’s why I was asking you. Nathaniel won’t tell me anything, but it’s pretty clear _something’s_ going on. When we went underneath the Keep the other morning, it was the first time the two of you had actually _talked_ to each other in almost a week. And then _after_ that, you went back to not talking to each other.”

Anders really shouldn’t have been surprised by Gideon’s observations. The man might not talk much, but he certainly wasn’t stupid. Apparently while everyone else was chattering, he was watching and taking notes, not unlike Nathaniel, actually.

Anders shrugged his shoulders. “There’s not really anything _wrong._ We just . . . don’t have much to talk about. We don’t exactly have a whole lot in common.”

“You didn’t get along much at the beginning, I know, but there seemed to be some time in there where you two were getting along _very_ well.”

Anders shifted awkwardly, not really comfortable with this topic. “We get along okay. I mean, it’s not like we’re ever going to be best friends, but we don’t _hate_ each other or anything.

“No, I didn’t think you did,” Gideon replied. He looked at Anders thoughtfully. “Actually, it seemed like the two of you might be _more_ than friends.”

Anders bristled. “I don’t really think that’s any of your business,” he snapped.

“Alright,” Gideon said, “but just so you know, you could do worse than him.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Anders asked peevishly.

Understanding dawned. “He pushed you away, didn’t he?”

Anders poked at the fire almost viciously. “You knew Rendon Howe, didn’t you?” he asked, rather than responding to the question directly. “What was he like? Before the Blight, I mean.”

Gideon thought about it. “I never saw him doing anything really evil, if that’s what you mean. He kissed a lot of arse, especially Loghain’s and my father’s. I always got the impression that he was a weasely, spineless bastard who would do just about anything to get ahead.” His expression turned dark. “I never thought he’d go as far as murder, though.”

“What about his children?” Anders asked. “What was he like with them?”

“He was alright with Delilah,” Gideon replied, “spoiled her quite a bit, actually. Thomas he didn’t really seem to care about one way or the other, though I got the feeling he approved of his behavior. Thomas was wild, and he was a bully. He got into a lot of fights with the locals in Amaranthine, and his father did a good job of covering it up. The boys he fought were the ones who got punished, even though Thomas was almost always the instigator. I heard a rumor, too, that he got a girl pregnant, and that she was very quietly shipped off to the Chantry. I doubt anyone asked the girl if she wanted to go or not.

“Nathaniel, though . . . Rendon was hard on him. I got the sense that there was a lot of discipline, maybe to make up for all the punishment that Thomas never received. I don’t know if Rendon was really disappointed in Nathaniel, but he definitely had high expectations, maybe _too_ high.”

“What do you mean?” Anders asked, curious.

Gideon shook his head. “If Nathaniel didn’t go into details about his father with you, it’s not my place to go against that. If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you.”

Anders scowled. “So in other words, mind my own business.”

Gideon smirked. “Isn’t that what you wanted _me_ to do?”

“Good point,” Anders agreed reluctantly. “I just . . .” he hesitated, unsure of how much he wanted to reveal. But Gideon had told them about Morrigan, after all, so maybe it would be good for Anders to confide in him. “I _think_ he wants me. He said he did, anyway. But he also said that nothing can happen with us. And the only reason he’d give is that something happened with his father.”

“I can believe that. Though I honestly don’t know what it was that happened.” Gideon seemed sincere enough, but Anders got the feeling that he knew at least a little. Obviously, he wasn’t going to tell Anders.

“I never took you to be the type who wanted to be in a relationship,” Gideon remarked.

Anders’ eyes widened, and he actually felt something close to panic build up in him. “Relationship? I never said anything about wanting a _relationship._ ”

The air seemed to grow cold as Gideon spoke. “So you’re just interested in fucking him and throwing him away?”

“No!” Anders protested, scooting away from him. “No. I . . . I respect Nathaniel; I’d never just use him like that.”

Gideon’s frown deepened. “You don’t want a relationship with him, but you don’t want a fling. What _do_ you want?”

And that was the complicated part. Anders sighed. “I don’t know _what_ I want. Mages are rubbish at relationships, well, at least the ones that last longer than a couple of days. Most of us don’t even know what being in a relationship means, exactly.”

“I suggest you get a dictionary, then,” Gideon said, still clearly angry. “I don’t know much about Nathaniel’s love life, but I’m pretty sure he’s not the type to have some meaningless fling.”

Anders noted how Gideon said he didn’t know _much_ about Nathaniel’s love life, which meant that he knew _something._

“I don’t know what I want,” Anders repeated, this time a little sadly. “I just—I don’t know.” He couldn’t even explain how he felt to _himself_ , let alone someone else.

Gideon relaxed a little. “Morrigan was like that, in a way. Even after all the time we spent together, and as close as we got, she never did make an actual commitment to me, not a spoken one. I think she was too scared of pinning herself down.” He shrugged. “I never really understood why.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if it was because she was a mage,” Anders said. “Mages are all treated the same, whether we’re good little Circle mages or ‘evil’ apostates.” He scowled. “Even if we were good at relationships, who would want to be with a dangerous mage?”

“I would,” Gideon reminded him sternly.

Anders winced. “Right. Sorry. What I mean is that everybody—that _most people_ ,” he clarified, “just assume we’re a bunch of deviants who dance naked under the full moon and sleep with anything on two legs. I’m sure they think we don’t _deserve_ to be in love, or even to be happy. We’re just a bunch of wild beasts, not even human at all.”

“I think you’re human,” Gideon pointed out. “I also think you’re full of shit.”

Anders started at that. “What–”

Gideon continued, ignoring him. “I think you’re using the fact that you’re a mage as an excuse to not commit to anyone, and to do whatever the hell you please. If you want to be like that, there’s nothing wrong with it. I’m certainly not going to judge you for it. But at least have the balls to admit that you don’t want to commit to anyone because _you_ don’t want to, not because you’re some poor oppressed mage.” What was just under the surface was now bubbling over, but now Anders was becoming just as angry.

“Now you wait just a minute–”

“No.” Gideon cut him off again, clearly not wanting to hear Anders’ excuses. “I’ve known mages who’ve fallen in love. And I’ve known mages who were in committed relationships. If you don’t want that, or if you’re too chicken-shit to admit that you _do_ want that, fine. But don’t fucking sit there and tell me it’s because everyone expects you to be like that. You make your own choices about who you are; we all do. So either suck it up and take some fucking ownership, or do something to change your ways. You want Nathaniel, fine. Go for it. But Nathaniel’s a good man, and the only way to get him is to _earn_ him.  And pissing and moaning about how it’s not _your_ fault that you can’t get him is not the way to go about it. I’m pretty sure that you’re a good man, too; you need to start acting like it.”

Anders was on his feet, hands clenched, before realizing he’d made a move.  “I’m not making excuses, I’m just telling the truth! You know how badly mages are treated, and you should know how hard it is to climb out of that! I never believed it when the Chantry sisters and the Templars told me I was worthless just because I’m a mage, but it was damn hard to listen to that every hour of every day. Mages don’t get close to people because it’s too dangerous! Falling in love in the Circle makes you weak, makes you vulnerable—both of you. The Templars will use _anything_ against you that they can find, and if they find out that you’re close to someone, that you’re in love, they’ll use that information to hurt you. They use it to try and break you.”

He thought of Karl, the only person he’d come even close to truly caring about, and he thought about how the Templars had made Karl pay for Anders’ final escape attempt. Anders wasn’t there for them to punish, so they’d done next best thing: they’d hurt someone who they believed he valued. Whether it was just to get back at him, or whether they thought that they could lure him out of hiding as a result, he didn’t know. It didn’t really matter. They’d tortured Karl, and then they’d sent him to the Gallows in Kirkwall, all because Anders had had the audacity to think he could get away from them, that he could be free. Anders had learned his lesson: never, _ever_ , let yourself get close to someone. He’d ignored that lesson when it came to Nathaniel, but Gideon’s lecture brought it back in force.

“You don’t understand. You _can’t_ understand. Not unless you’re a mage. And I’m not going to waste my time explaining it to you. I don’t care if you think I’m just using it as an excuse. I don’t really care _what_ you think. I am who I am, and I’m not making excuses about that, I’m just telling it like it is.”

He threw the stick that he was holding into the fire. “And I don’t have to earn _anything_ , or any _one._ I’ve paid my dues, and I’ve never gotten anything in return. So why should I bust my arse trying to get something if I’m never going to be able to have it?”

Anders started to walk away, but he turned back to Gideon. “And you don’t have to worry about Nathaniel and me not getting along. We’re still friends, and we’ll back each other up in battle, and do our jobs. Anything else is none of your business.” He stalked off, ignoring Gideon’s order to come back. He was leaving his post, and he didn’t really give a damn. He’d probably pay for making Gideon take the last two hours of his watch, but right now, he couldn’t care less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics of Anders’ mother’s song are from _The Lowlands of Holland_ , a traditional British folk song. It always felt like the sort of song an Anders woman would sing while doing household chores (with a change of location names, obviously).


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! NaNoWriMo was a great success, and netted me six complete (and messy) chapters of Unseen Forces. I'm slowly cleaning them up and making them presentable, and I'll post them as I'm done with each.

The sound of shouting could be heard through the door—the one that Anders and Oghren currently had their ears against. It was a similar stance that they had taken a few months before, when Nathaniel Howe had been put through the Joining. By the sound of things, this wasn't nearly such a "pleasant" occasion.

Gideon Cousland was a fury to be reckoned with when he got angry, and Mistress Woolsey was the unfortunate victim today.

Anders was secretly glad of that—he was still sore about the argument he and Gideon had gotten into regarding Nathaniel the other day. As far as Anders was concerned, Gideon was completely in the wrong, and Anders had been justified in arguing back to his commander and then leaving his post. Well . . . maybe not _completely_ justified, but Gideon shouldn't have brought the subject up in the first place. Anders had offered a muttered apology the next morning only because he knew things would be easier that way, and he was sure Gideon realized that, though he accepted the apology graciously.

Anders' and Oghren's eavesdropping on the heated argument was interrupted when Sigrun came downstairs.

"What are you two doing?" she asked, amused.

Anders shushed her. "We're listening to the Commander lay into our good Mistress Woolsey."

"Aye," Oghren agreed. "Gideon's lettin' her have it, and good."

Sigrun sidled between them and stuck her own ear against the door. "Letting her have it for what?"

"We're not exactly sure," Anders admitted. "We only just got here, and we can't really hear what all the shouting's about."

Sigrun rolled her eyes. "Guess we better find out." Ignoring Anders' protests, she pushed the door open and walked in. Anders and Oghren hurried after her, though they made sure to stay well back. If the Commander yelled about them interrupting, Anders wanted to be as far away from Sigrun as possible. Well, as far away as possible while still being in the room—he was not about to miss this for the world.

Gideon Cousland was sitting on the throne, body upright and tense, rather than his usual lazy posture.

"You are the most selfish, conceited, _ignorant_ women I have ever met!" he shouted at Mistress Woolsey, who was standing in front of him. "How dare you stand there and tell _me_ what my job is?"

"All I am saying, Warden-Commander, is that we _need_ to get trade flowing," Woolsey said, clearly angry but trying to sound reasonable. "The Wardens' coffers are empty—we need the money. And the only way to get that is to clear the Highway of bandits so that the merchants can get through."

Gideon looked at her with disgust. "Oh yes, filling the coffers with gold is _obviously_ much more important than the darkspawn threat," he sneered, "but I really couldn't give a shit less if we have money or not; the Wardens aren't here to make a profit."

" _You_ may not care about money, but I can assure you that the soldiers protecting the Keep do!" Mistress Woolsey proclaimed. "As do all of the other workers, the ones who expect to be _paid_ for their services. Do you think the kitchen pantry is magically stocked by elves every night? That the walls will rebuild themselves? We need money to run the Keep!"

The Commander shook his head angrily. "Bandits have always been a nuisance, and they always will be. Short of setting up guards every mile along the entire Imperial Highway we're never going to get rid of them. There are more important things at stake—things like darkspawn. The monsters that are invading peoples' farmsteads and destroying the land. We need to put a stop to _them_ before we deal with a handful of bandits who are keeping you from buying yourself some new knickers."

Woolsey threw up her hands. "There is no winning with you, I see. You are every bit as stubborn as they said you would be."

The Warden-Commander actually grinned at that. "Oh, I'm sure I'm _much_ worse than they said. I've always been given a better reputation than I deserve."

Anders stifled a laugh. Given all of the things he had heard about Gideon Cousland over the past year, and the things he had seen of the man himself over the past few months, he had to agree. The "Hero of Ferelden" sung about in ballads and written about in books was practically a saint compared to the actual man. Not that Gideon was a bad man, it was simply that the heroes in stories were always more impressive than the real thing. The ballads talked about the Warden being strong and imposing, impressive and intimidating—and all of those things were true; but they never said anything about his short temper or his lack of patience for people who didn't agree with him—or how he could be a complete arse if he didn't get his way. Which was probably for the best—people needed heroes.

Woolsey had left off shouting, and was trying to reason with the Commander once again. "You are the Warden-Commander of the Fereldan Grey: it is your _duty_ to make sure—"

Gideon's eyes narrowed into slits, and when he spoke his tone was icy cold. "Don't you daretell me what my duty is as a Grey Warden—you have _no say_ about a Warden's duties.

"We fight darkspawn. We stay vigilant. We give our _lives_ to try and rid the world of Blights for good. _Those_ are our duties. And those are the ones I am going to carry out, no matter what." He took a deep breath, calming himself. "As I'm sure you've noticed, I didn't mention _bandits_ anywhere in there."

"Commander. Please." Woolsey looked at him imploringly. "All I am doing is asking you to go and look. What if it is more than just common bandits? There have been _a lot_ of rumors coming in from near the Wending Wood, none of them good."

The Commander thought for a full minute, drumming his fingers on the arm of the throne. Finally he nodded. "All right, fine. If it'll get you off my back I'll go look." He glared at Woolsey's triumphant smile. "Don't think you've won, though. I'm not going to let myself be cowed by you. You said it yourself: _I_ am the Warden-Commander here. I call the shots."

Woolsey bowed her head deferentially. "Yes, Commander. I understand completely." Anders noticed the tiny smile still curving her lips as she turned to leave. That woman was something else.

oOoOo

It was on the outskirts of the Wending Wood that the Wardens began seeing signs of something more serious than Gideon had surmised. Broken wagons, smashed crates, and other assorted detritus lined the path.

"This is not the work of a few bandits," Nathaniel said grimly.

Gideon nodded his head. "Looks like I underestimated the situation." He growled irritably. "I should have known better."

Anders shrugged. "Well, you _have_ been a bit preoccupied lately. You know—killing darkspawn, finding lost dwarven fortresses, single-handedly rebuilding the Wardens. You can't think of _everything._ "

Oghren, who was walking on the Commander's left side, slapped Gideon on the back. "Sparklefingers is right. Ya can't be expected to know everything that's gonna happen." He chuckled. "You already saved the world once; most people'd think that was enough."

Gideon reached out and shoved at Oghren's shoulder. "I'm not trying to save the world. I'm just trying to keep people safe." He was silent for a few moments. "Woolsey was right, in a way. I'm not fulfilling my duties."

Oghren shoved back companionably. "Yer gonna let that old biddy tell ya what to do? She doesn't know a soddin' thing about being a Warden."

"No, she doesn't," Gideon agreed. "But I'm not just the Warden-Commander—I'm the Arl of Amaranthine as well. I have a duty to keep my people safe."

"Killin' darkspawn's the best way to do that, I reckon," Oghren said.

"Oghren's right," Nathaniel agreed quietly. "These _are_ your lands to protect, your people; but none of that will survive if we don't defeat the darkspawn."

Judging by the way that Gideon stopped walking and looked back at Nathaniel, he was just as surprised as Anders was by the comment. It was, as far as Anders knew, the first time that Nathaniel had acknowledged that Amaranthine belonged to Gideon. Anders smiled to himself, knowing how much it must have taken the rogue to be able to finally come to terms with that.

Gideon bowed his head towards Nathaniel, silently thanking him for the show of support. He turned to face forward, heading into the Wood once more.

Though all of them were keeping a sharp eye on their surroundings, it was Gideon who saw the burned out wagon first, and the handful of men who were picking through the wreckage. As soon as the bandits saw the four Wardens approaching they dropped what they had been gathering and ran off.

As Anders and the others drew closer to the ruined wagon, the stench of burnt wood and decayed flesh became nearly unbearable. Bodies were strewn among the wreckage, and it was immediately clear that none of them had died from the fire. One man was impaled on a large spear; others looked as if they had been mauled by some type of wild animal—their faces were covered with deep slash marks caked with blood, and the thick leather armor they wore had long tears which looked like they'd been made by sharp claws. It reminded Anders of the ogre that had attacked Nathaniel. Others were just . . . dead—not a visible mark anywhere on their bodies. One unfortunate soul had been decapitated, his head nowhere in sight. A hysterical urge to make a joke about "losing his head" bubbled up inside Anders, but luckily he was able to hold his tongue.

"This _definitely_ isn't the work of bandits," Gideon said angrily. "These men were murdered, and it wasn't for the goods they were carrying."

Anders pointed in the direction that the men had run. "What about them?"

Gideon shook his head. "They didn't have anything to do with this. If they'd really killed all of these men, they wouldn't have been scared off by us. They were scavengers, nothing more."

"Stealing from the dead," Nathaniel spat. "That hardly makes them innocent."

"I didn't say they were innocent," Gideon replied, "just that they didn't murder these men." He pointed to several weapons lying on the ground and clenched in some of the dead men's hands. "These aren't bandits, they're _soldiers._ Well-outfitted, by the looks of things."

Oghren toed at a still-burning piece of wood with his steel-tipped boot. "Darkspawn?"

Gideon looked around. "Maybe. I don't think so, though. Darkspawn destroy everything in their paths. The destruction here was limited to the caravan. The wagons and goods have been burned to a crisp, the soldiers all dead—but look at everything else." He gestured to the pristine land surrounding the wagons. "Darkspawn destroy _everything_ in their paths. If they were going to set fires, they'd try to burn the whole forest down."

Anders looked at the bodies strewn across the ground. "I suppose that's _slightly_ comforting. Not _that_ comforting, though." He finally spotted the decapitated head lying several yards away. "Not at all, actually."

"We should keep going," Nathaniel said.

Unfortunately, the scavengers had not completely fled the area, and they seemed to have gained their courage after meeting up with a few friends less than a half mile from the site of the wreckage. A note found on one of them (slightly torn by the sword that Gideon had stuck in the man's chest) indicated that the men had been hired to clear out a clan of Dalish elves who reportedly had been causing trouble for the caravans traveling through the Wending Wood.

"So . . . _elves_ caused all this?" Anders asked.

"I guess . . ." Gideon said skeptically. "That doesn't make any sense either, though. Dalish are pretty peaceful unless they're being outright threatened by humans. Even then, they usually just move on rather than get into a direct conflict."

"So are they the bad guys or not?" Anders asked impatiently. He didn't want a stupid mystery to solve—he wanted to kill whatever, or whoever, they needed to kill and get out of this place as soon as possible. He hated the outdoors almost as much as he hated the Deep Roads; forests like this were full of dirty, filthy creatures; poisonous plants; tiny bugs that seemed determined to make a feast of anyone they encountered; among other nefarious, outdoorsy things. He was certain that during their short time here he had seen several different bushes rustle ominously, and one or two cries of wild animals in the far distance. Who knew what kinds of beasts were actually lurking in this place? There could be bears, or wolves . . . poisonous snakes, maybe. Or spiders. Big ones. He shuddered at the thought of giant, mabari-sized, spiders crawling around, waiting to jump out and devour them all.

Anders was busy peering into the bushes as Gideon talked with Nathaniel about the nature of elves. Anders spotted something moving up ahead and pointed his finger at it.

"Is that really a tree beating the crap out of that guy," Anders asked, "or should I not have eaten those berries I found this morning?" He noticed that the tree's roots were loose upon the ground and that it was actually walking around. Well, stomping more like. Anders winced as it stomped on one of the bandit's companions, flattening him in an interesting, yet terminal way.

Nathaniel's bow was already taut in his hands and he loosed an arrow straight at the tree—to absolutely no effect. The animated tree (or sylvan, as Anders had once heard them referred to in a lecture) did not even notice the sharp arrow that was now lodged in its trunk. It noticed Oghren's large axe swinging at it full-force, though.

As Oghren hacked at the tree, Gideon and Nathaniel fought the bandits who had taken advantage of the sylvan's distraction to attack the Wardens. Anders saw two more trees lumber towards the group of fighting men and he prepared a fireball to hurl at one of them—until he saw that it was already on fire. He switched to an ice spell and hurled it at the sylvan, freezing it in place.

Sylvans were fairly rare, usually only existing in places where the Veil was thin. They had once been ordinary trees that had been possessed by a vengeful spirit. Why a spirit would possess a _tree,_ Anders had no idea. Presumably there hadn't been many other choices available at the time they'd entered the mortal world after escaping the Fade.

If Anders remembered right, they were _extremely_ jealous of other living things, presumably because they were stuck for all of eternity inside of a damned _tree._ Anders suspected he would be quite cranky, too, if he were in a similar position.

Regardless of what kind of mood the things were in, they seemed to be extremely resilient to damage. Though Oghren was doing a passable imitation of a woodcutter, the sylvan he was fighting was still standing—and still punching at anything that got in its way.

The bandits were easy to take down in comparison to the sylvans, and it was not long before all of the Wardens were concentrating their efforts on the two remaining sylvans. The one that Oghren had been so diligently working on had finally been cut down, but the others, with their fiery branches, were harder to deal with. In the end, it was Anders' offensive magic that did the most damage, and he sent shards of ice and blasts of lightning at them until they were completely destroyed.

Sweating profusely and panting, Gideon swiped at his sweat-covered brow and grinned at Anders. "Nice job. Good to know you're useful for more than healing."

Anders took it for the compliment that it was meant to be and laughed. "I am a man of _many_ talents, I'll have you know."

"I'll have to remember that." Gideon looked down at the carnage around them. "We just beat the hell out of three murderous trees. I don't know what's going on here, but it seems like there's some kind of magic involved."

Anders thought about that. "It's possible, I suppose. Not sure what a mage's motivation for all of this would be."

Gideon shrugged. "If they're blood mages they don't really need a motivation."

"Apostate doesn't equal maleficar," Anders reminded him stiffly. "You know that as well as anyone."

"I know that," Gideon said calmly. "I'm just tossing out ideas."

"It could just be the result of hedge wizard who was never properly trained in his magic," Anders mused as they started along the broken dirt path again. "Or just a series of weird coincidences?"

"I don't believe in coincidences," Gideon replied. "There have been reports of trouble in the Wending Wood for months, but that didn't seem like anything special—bandits have always been a problem along the Imperial Highway. But destroyed caravans and attacking trees? That wasn't in any of the reports _I've_ seen; and I'm pretty sure Woolsey would've mentioned it."

They were climbing uphill now, passing large groves of thankfully normal trees.

"I think there was, or maybe still is, a Dalish clan camped here," Gideon said musingly. "And I think the regular travelers along this route were uneasy about it. So they put in a bunch of complaints about there being trouble, and maybe there was—especially if the human caravaneers tried to push the Dalish out. But I doubt they were causing any _major_ trouble.

"Whatever's going on now is probably connected to that, but for some reason the ante's been upped. This is more than the usual skirmish between humans and elves—there's something sinister going on here."

As if to prove his point, a bandit came hurtling down the path, a look of terror on his face.

"Out of my way!" He shouted, clearly panicked by something. "I've got to get out of here!"

He tried to push past them, but Gideon pressed a hand to the man's chest, holding him back. "What's going on?"

"It's that crazy elf! She's trying to kill me!"

"Why?" Gideon asked sharply. "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing!" the man protested. "We didn't do nothing wrong, I swear! Me and my men, we heard about all the attacks. We came to check it out, see if we could do anything to, uh . . . _help_."

Nathaniel made a sound of disgust. "You mean you came here to steal from the bodies of innocent people who had been murdered."

The bandit looked at Nathaniel peevishly. "Well, _they_ weren't using the stuff, were they? And if we didn't take it, you can be sure someone else would have. We're just trying to make a living," he whined, "didn't none of my friends deserve what _she_ did to them!"

A loud cracking sound made the man jump. "It's _her_. I'm getting out of here. If you're smart, you will too!" He ducked away from Gideon and ran off.

There was another loud crack, and a woman appeared on a low overhang next to them. An elf, dressed in mage's robes. "You shouldn't be here," she growled.

Gideon peered up at her. "Why not? Seems to me like we have as much right to be here as you do." He sounded casual, but Anders saw him tighten his grip on his sword.

The elf glared at him. "You are not going to drive me from here! The other shems couldn't do it, and neither could the darkspawn. You won't fare any better than them!"

"So there _are_ darkspawn here," Gideon said, not surprised. "Did they do all this?"

"Of course not," the woman scoffed. "The shem merchants _stole_ my sister! They murdered my clan and then took her from me! Those caravans were only the beginning. If I don't get Seranni back I will burn this whole forest down! I will kill every last shem I see!" Her eyes turned dark as she raised her hands. "Including you!"

A flurry of branches shot up from the ground, hiding the elf from sight. With her departure, the forest around them erupted as two or three sylvans stomped into view to attack the Wardens. Nearly a dozen feral wolves charged in to assist in the attack, snarling and biting at the air. Gideon and the others drew their weapons in defense.

Once everything was dead, Gideon sheathed his sword and swore loudly for several minutes, cursing anything and everything to do with forests: trees, animals—not even the uneven ground was safe from his verbal onslaught. The others just stood and watched, waiting for him to calm down.

"Well," he finally said, "at least we know what caused all of this."

"She was a mage for sure," Anders said, "but I've never heard of a school of magic that could call up wild animals and make trees animate."

"She said the merchants took her sister," Nathaniel said. "Why would they do something like that?"

"Maybe to get the rest of the elves to leave?" Oghren asked.

Gideon shook his head. "I don't think so. I think the darkspawn are responsible for this."

"Why would they kill all of the elves save for one?" Anders asked.

Gideon gave him a dark look. "She was a _female_ elf. Remember Kal'Hirol? The Broodmothers?"

Anders shivered. "Oh. Right."

"We need to find her," Gideon said. "Figure out what's going on."

They traveled on for quite a ways, but did not see any sign of her. Or anyone else, for that matter. Which made Anders nervous. The letter they'd found had implied that a large group of soldiers had been dispatched to get rid of the Dalish, yet there had been no sign of them. Nor of any more bandits, or even darkspawn. Maybe they'd all been run off by the crazy elf.

It was not long before they found out that this was not the case at all. There was a large pit dug into the ground, and dozens of bodies lying in it. Nathaniel knelt down, his eyes scanning the ground.

"These men didn't die here," he said. "Look at these markings." He pointed to several long grooves. "They were killed elsewhere and then dragged here."

"The elf," Oghren said. "Looks like she's been pretty busy."

A loud groan issuing from behind a nearby bush startled all of them. Gideon cautiously crept forward, the others close behind him. A man was lying on the ground, clearly wounded, but that was not the worst part: he had been tainted by darkspawn. His eyes were sunken, and his blackened skin was stretched taut over his bones—he looked like he hadn't eaten for days, maybe even weeks. When he opened his mouth to speak, Anders saw that his teeth were stained with blood.

"Help me," the man said feebly, "please."

Gideon knelt down next to him. "What happened?"

"Darkspawn. We came—we came after the elf . . . mayor said to get rid of her—" his words were cut off by a fit of coughing. Nathaniel pulled out his flask of water and uncapped it, silently handing it to the man. He was so weak that Gideon had to hold it to his mouth as he took a long sip, water dribbling down his chin.

"Thank you," he rasped, voice a little stronger. "The mayor sent us to get rid of the elf; she'd been causing all sorts of trouble. We tried, but then the darkspawn set on us. They – they killed my friends. I was wounded . . . my leg . . . couldn't walk." Whatever strength the man had gained from drinking the water was clearly fading. "I . . . I ate them . . . nothing else to eat . . . had to . . ."

Anders' stomach roiled dangerously. No wonder he was so badly tainted—he had eaten the flesh of others who had been killed by darkspawn. Other men; his friends. He swallowed harshly, willing himself not to get sick. One look at Oghren's pale face showed Anders that the dwarf was having the same reaction.

The wounded man began coughing again, but waved off Gideon's offer of more water. The man was obviously dying, though he was trying to hold on until his story had been told. "You have to stop her. Darkspawn . . . the darkspawn are the ones that killed the other elves . . . took our weapons . . . planted them in the elves' camp to trick them."

Anders' eyes widened in horror. "She killed all of those people, just because of a—a _misunderstanding_? Maker's breath, that's horrible!" He looked at Gideon imploringly. "We have to find her, we have to tell her what happened!"

"We have to put a stop to her," Nathaniel said quietly. Anders looked at the rogue and nodded his head.

"Where did the darkspawn come from?" Gideon asked the soldier.

"From below," he said, voice fading. "They came . . . from beneath." His eyes, filled with agony, focused on Gideon. "Please . . . end this. Quickly . . ."

Gideon nodded his head, and just like with Rolan drew his dagger and slit the soldier's throat cleanly.

All four men were silent as they looked at the dead soldier, and Anders realized there was a distinct difference between this man and Rolan. Though Rolan had been the first person Anders had ever seen infected with the taint, Anders hadn't taken his Joining yet, and so hadn't really understood the full implication of Rolan's condition.

Looking down at this dead man, seeing how his body had been corrupted by the taint—Anders realized the full horror of what the darkspawn could do. There really _were_ worse things than dying, and the proof was lying on the ground in front of him.

"This is going to happen to us one day, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

Gideon looked at Anders grimly as he stood up. "To a certain degree, yes. Alistair told me once that the Wardens are immune to the taint, but we aren't really. The Joining itself taints us, more or less. But it also helps to slow the taint down. During the Blight we had to go to the Deep Roads beneath Orzammar, and we found a dwarf there named Ruck. He was tainted . . . and insane. I'm not sure if that's _exactly_ what will happen to us if we refuse to go on our Calling and let the corruption take us over completely, but it's possible."

Anders shuddered. He had thought dying in the Deep Roads would be the most horrible thing that could happen to him as a Warden. Now the fact that he _might not_ die was even worse. He could understand now why Wardens went down to the Deep Roads when they heard the Calling. If the taint didn't actually kill you, if it just slowly ate away at your body and mind until you became so disfigured and insane that you wound up offing yourself or getting killed by someone else, maybe it was better to just throw yourself at the darkspawn and be done with it. Or end it quickly some other way—on your own terms.

Anders was torn from his grim thoughts by the sight of an arrow whizzing by, inches from his face. He looked at Nathaniel in confusion, only to see that the rogue still had his bow strapped to his back.

"Darkspawn!" Oghren shouted, pulling his axe out and rushing the closest one.

After what he'd just witnessed, Anders was glad to have some darkspawn to take his fear and revulsion out on. The others seemed to be thinking along the same lines as they attacked the darkspawn with zeal.

When the last one was down, Gideon and Oghren set about searching the bodies while Nathaniel collected as many spent arrows as he could find. Gideon finished searching a hurlock and stood up, a necklace dangling from his gloved hand.

"What's that?" Anders asked curiously.

"A locket of some sort." Gideon said, examining it. "Strange thing to find on a darkspawn. It's got a carving of a halla on it."

"Isn't that them deer-like things that the Dalish keep as pets?" Oghren asked.

"Not pets," Gideon said. "The halla are sacred animals to the Dalish."

Nathaniel took the necklace from Gideon and looked at it with interest for a few moments before handing it back. "So it belonged to one of the elves who was here, most likely. Perhaps that woman would be interested in it."

Gideon nodded. "It looks like proof that the darkspawn were involved in their deaths; probably in her sister's disappearance, too."

"Let's hope not," Oghren grunted. "Last thing we need is to kill another broodmother, 'specially an elven one."

Anders looked at Oghren curiously. "Does the race of the female that's turned into a broodmother matter?"

"Aye. Least, that's what the Legion of the Dead say. According to them, broodmothers that were once dwarves make genlocks; human ones make hurlocks; and elves make shrieks, which are a damn pain in the arse. They're tough, and they spend the whole time screaming—like nails on a piece of slate." He shuddered. "There's a rumor that ogres are made when qunari are turned into broodmothers, but I don't know about that one. Qunari don't travel outside of their homeland that much."

"Which might explain why there aren't many ogres around," Gideon said.

Oghren shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe they only ever managed to get ahold o' the one, and ogres just don' die of old age."

Gideon put the necklace into his pack before walking over to Anders and clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Look, all that stuff about the taint?" He looked over at the dead soldier before looking back at Anders, a not-unkind look on his face. "Thirty years is a long time. No use worrying about it right now."

Anders forced himself to smile. "Yeah. Of course. Probably wind up in some darkspawn's belly long before that."

"That's not something to joke about," Nathaniel said, a stern expression on his face.

Anders glanced over at him, that fake smile still frozen on his face. " _Everything's_ something to joke about, Nate. Can't take the world too seriously."

Nathaniel just shook his head before walking off. Gideon gave Anders a comradely slap on the back before following after him.

They made their way towards a large hill almost in the very center of the Wending Wood, upon which stood a ruined stone structure. As they got closer, they could tell that it had recently been used as an encampment by a large group of people—possibly the Dalish clan that had supposedly caused so much "trouble." Several large tents were erected around the clearing, and in the middle was a large fire pit. A variety of weapons—bows, swords, daggers—were scattered about the encampment, with a large pile next to the bodies of a few soldiers.

Off to one side was a row of long mounds of earth with stones placed at the head of each, and standing before them was the elven woman who had slain dozens of innocent men in a misguided attempt at revenge.

Her head was bowed, her hands clasped in front of her. She did not look up when the Wardens approached.

"You will not take me," she said. "I will die first." Finally, she looked up at Gideon, proud chin jutting forward. "Do you hear me? You will _never_ take me alive!" Her hands raised, electricity crackling between her fingers.

Gideon sheathed his weapon and raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "We're not going to take you anywhere, nor are we planning on killing you."

Anders made a noise of protest. "You can't just let her go!"

Gideon turned and gave him a stern look. "Keep out of this, Anders." He turned back to the woman, speaking slowly and carefully. "Those soldiers didn't kill your clan, the darkspawn did."

"Liar!" She shrieked. "Do you think me a fool? Look at those weapons!" She pointed to the pile of well-crafted swords and bows. "Those are shem weapons! Why would darkspawn kill my people? Why would they take Seranni from me?"

Trying not to make any sudden movements that might alarm the elf, Gideon reached into his pack and produced the necklace he had found on the hurlock. He handed it to her. "We found this on one of the darkspawn."

The lightning passing between her fingers disappeared abruptly, and she reached out to snatch the necklace from Gideon. "This—this is Seranni's." She looked up at Gideon. "You found this on a darkspawn?"

Gideon nodded. "They're the ones that did all this."

Tears were welling in the woman's eyes. "I have to get her back. I have to!"

"We will," Gideon said. "My men and I will find—"

"Let me come with you," the elf said. "Please." It was clear by her body language that that one word took a great deal of effort for her to say.

Gideon looked at her long and hard before finally nodding. "All right. So long as you don't get in our way, you can come."

" _What?_ " Anders looked at his commander in shock. "After everything she did? She murdered all those people! She tried to kill us! And you're just going to let her come with us?"

"Yes," Gideon said. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Anders gaped at him for a moment, not even sure how to respond. Finally he sighed in defeat. This man was his commander and leader—if Gideon said she was coming, she was coming. There was nothing Anders could say that would change the stubborn man's mind. "No, Commander."

"I'm Velanna," the woman said, ignoring Anders' outburst.

"Gideon Cousland." He introduced the rest of the Wardens to her one by one. "We need to find where the darkspawn are coming from. Usually they keep themselves underground."

"There's a mine not far from here," Velanna said. "It goes deep beneath the earth, but I don't know how far. My people and I stayed well away from it."

Anders looked to Nathaniel, hoping for some sort of protest from the rogue about allowing this Velanna to come along with them. But Nathaniel seemed too busy giving Velanna a long, appreciative look to offer up any sort of complaint. Anders felt a brief pang of jealousy, and chastised himself for it. Anders was obviously reading Nathaniel's expression wrong; probably Nathaniel was just trying to take the measure of Velanna to find any weaknesses she might have, just in case she tried to stab them all in the back. Which was bound to happen sooner or later.

"Where's the mine from here?" Gideon asked; Velanna pointed south. Anders craned his neck and could just make out a large hill in the distance, one that was not visible from their vantage point due to the excess amount of trees and smaller hills in the way.

They set off towards the mine—Gideon and Oghren in the front, followed by Velanna, who was being watched intently by Nathaniel, with Anders bringing up the rear, his eyes on Nathaniel.

It took them a couple of hours to reach the mine, by which point Anders was hot, sweaty, and extremely pissed off. It was obvious now that Nathaniel was flirting— _flirting!_ —with Velanna. And although she rebuked every kind comment directed at her, her eyes strayed to Nathaniel often.

Anders just couldn't believe it. In the many months since Anders had first met the man, he'd seen no indication from Nathaniel that he fancied women. No flirtation with any of the female inhabitants of the Keep, not even an appreciative look. Apparently he was only attracted to women who were likely to murder him in his sleep.

Anders waited until Velanna had moved off to walk by herself before he sidled up to Nathaniel.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" he hissed out of the corner of his mouth, not wanting the others to overhear.

Nathaniel looked over at him curiously. "What exactly do you mean?"

"You're fraternizing with the enemy!"

"What in the Maker's name are you talking about, Anders?"

"I'm _talking_ about that elf," Anders said through gritted teeth. "That evil . . . _murderess_. . . is obviously planning something."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "She's not the enemy—she's an ally. Gideon trusts her."

"Yeah, well, he trusted us, too. And look where that's got him."

"He gained two reliable and skilled Wardens as a result of that trust." Nathaniel smirked. "Gideon's instincts are usually correct, surprising as that might seem."

Anders was surprised by Nathaniel's comment. "You think I'm reliable and skilled?"

Nathaniel smiled at him. "Yes, I do. You've saved _all_ of our lives on more than one occasion. As I said: Gideon chooses his companions well."

"So you don't even care about all the stuff she did here?" Anders asked, refusing to be distracted from the main point of the conversation.

"Of course I care," Nathaniel responded. "But she seems to know this area better than we do, and if the darkspawn really do have her sister, then it's our duty to get her back. Velanna's determination to accomplish that task will surely make her an asset."

"I suppose," Anders said grudgingly. "But I'm still going to keep an eye on her."

 _And you,_ he thought, but did not say. Nathaniel had done a good job evading Anders' accusations of flirting with the elf, but Anders was not stupid. Nathaniel _fancied_ her. Just the thought of Nathaniel and Velanna becoming romantic was enough to make Anders feel sick.

If Nathaniel were to become intimate with someone besides her, Anders wouldn't be nearly as upset. It was just the fact that he had his eye on this murderous witch—

No, he could not even lie to _himself_ about this _._ He would be upset if Nathaniel became involved with _anyone_. Anyone besides Anders, that was. Which was stupid. Hadn't he just had an argument with Gideon the other night about the fact that Anders had no interest in any sort of committed relationship? And wasn't that the type of thing that someone like Nathaniel would want? Yes, on both counts. But Anders could not imagine that Velanna would want anything to do with Nathaniel. Or, at least he hoped she didn't.

Judging from everything the elf had said about _shems_ (a word that Anders knew was meant to be an offensive term for human), he could not imagine Velanna doing anything but spit in Nathaniel's face. She hadn't, though. Instead she had looked at him . . . well not flirtatiously, but not dismissively either. She had definitely looked interested in what he had to say, even if her words were scornful. But maybe it was just the first time a human had ever been nice to her.

Anders felt a slight pang of empathy at that thought, but he quickly stifled it. No way was he going to let himself feel sorry for _her_.

Finally they reached the entrance to the mine—a large set of double doors made of marble set into the craggy hill.

"Why does everywhere we go involve being underground?" Anders complained.

"Because we're Wardens," Gideon said curtly, beckoning to Nathaniel to help him get one of the doors open. "We follow darkspawn, and darkspawn live underground. This isn't that hard of a concept to grasp."

Anders huffed, arms crossed. "I _know_ that. But it would be nice if, just once, the darkspawn decided to go invade some tropical island full of nubile young women."

Both Nathaniel and Gideon stopped what they were doing and turned to give Anders flat looks.

"I'm just saying . . ." Anders mumbled.

Nathaniel shook his head and muttered something Anders couldn't hear, but that he was sure was not very flattering. Finally the two men got the door open and beckoned to the others to follow them inside.

The area just inside was wide open, and Anders caught a glimpse of a spiral staircase leading upwards. Suddenly, his vision went blurry and he started to feel extremely dizzy. Panicking, he looked at the others, who seemed to be faring the same as him. Velanna was already lying on the ground, eyes closed, and he watched as Oghren toppled over, hands clutching his head. Gideon was shouting something at Anders, though he could not make out the words—it was as if he was speaking underwater. A word echo up from the darkness, in a voice that did not quite sound human.

" _Sleep . . ."_

And Anders knew no more, letting the black waves pour over him as he fell down . . . down, into the darkness.


	20. Chapter 20

Anders awoke slowly, swimming up out of the dark depths of unconsciousness. A view of vertical steel bars greeted him when he opened his eyes. He jolted upright, surprise and fear knocking the breath out of him.

He was in the Circle of Magi. Somehow, someway he had been transported back to that damnable place; and not just to the Circle, but to the cell where he had been imprisoned for nearly a year of his life. If he had had breath enough to speak he might have cried out, but as it was all he managed was a raspy croak.

His eyes swiveled about the cell and he saw Nathaniel sitting just a few feet away. That couldn’t be right—why would _Nathaniel_ be in the Circle’s dungeon? It took several moments for his mind to finally clear and to remember what had happened. _The Wending Wood. Velanna. The mine. Blacking out._

Blacking out. Anders had felt the surge of magic in the air even as he was succumbing to the sleep spell; there was a powerful mage about, one who obviously did not wish Gideon and the others well. It had put them to sleep, and then cast them into this cell—presumably somewhere deep within the mine they had ventured into to find Velanna’s sister.

He took a closer look at Nathaniel, checking to make sure he was all right. The rogue was kneeling, forehead resting on his clasped hands. Anders couldn’t quite tell if Nathaniel was praying, or if he was suffering a headache from the spell that had been cast on them. Anders sent out a small wave of healing magic just in case. Surprised, Nathaniel picked up his head and looked over at Anders. The visible crease in his forehead relaxed as he saw that Anders was awake. “Are you all right?”

Anders nodded back. “A bit sore, but I’m fine.” He cast another small healing spell on himself to relieve the ache of having been lying on a stone floor for an indeterminable amount of time.

The sleep spell hadn’t worn off of all of the party members at the same time, it seemed. Oghren was still passed out, flat on his back, a little drool trickling from his mouth into his beard. Velanna was seated in the corner, awake but grumbling to herself in what must have been elvish. Anders was surprised to see that she was no longer wearing the colorful robes that he had first seen her in, but was instead wearing a drab, sack-like dress. Looking at the others, he realized dimly that all of them, himself included, were wearing breeches and tunics made of the same rough cloth.

Gideon was standing at the cell door, examining the hinges carefully. “I can’t see any way to get this open without a key; even with all of our weight against it, I don’t think we could bash it open.”

Claustrophobia was already threatening to take over Anders, and he hadn’t been awake for five minutes. Not only were they deep underground, but they were locked into a cell with no way out. A very small cell, with five people crammed into it—one of them a very smelly, often flatulent dwarf.

As if on cue there was a loud _braappp_ as Oghren let one loose in his sleep, and the air immediately began to reek of rotten eggs. Velanna scowled and kicked Oghren in the leg. It obviously wasn’t enough to wake him; the dwarf smacked his lips a few times, chuckled, and mumbled something about roasted nugs. Gideon walked over and kicked him harder.

“What? What?” Oghren yelled out as he sat up. “I wasn’ sleepin’! I was just restin’ my eyes!”

Gideon snorted. “Sure you were.”

Oghren grumbled lowly. “Sodding nughumpers,” he mumbled. “Man can’t even get a little sleep around here without someone trying to bang him up.”

Normally Anders would have laughed at Oghren’s antics, but he was too busy worrying over Gideon’s declaration that there was no way out of the cell. His chest was constricting painfully; he couldn’t even manage a deep breath as cold panic began to rise up. “Can’t you do _anything?”_ he asked Gideon, barely keeping the hysteria out of his voice. _“_ There _has_ to be a way out! Right?”

Gideon gave him a flat look. “There is. With a _key_. That’s usually how you open locks.”

Anders looked over at Nathaniel pleadingly. “Can’t you just pick it?”

Nathaniel shook his head as he got to his feet. “I don’t have my tools with me.”

Nathaniel got to his feet and went over to inspect the door with Gideon. “Maybe we can lift the door up off the hinges?”

Gideon shook his head. “They’re too sturdy. Whoever built these cells did a damn good job, and they probably did it pretty recently. I doubt the original workers had any need for cells in a mine _._ ”

“Well, someone’s bound to come along soon, aren’t they?” Anders asked. “They wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble if they were just going to kill us.”

Gideon shrugged. “Depends on why they captured us.” He smiled wryly. “Maybe they just want to fuck with us before they do us in.”

Anders opened his mouth to snap at his commander, but the sound of footsteps in the hallway stopped him. Anders looked through the bars and saw a shadowy figure approaching. The area outside the cell was too dark to make the person out clearly, but whoever it was definitely was not a darkspawn.

A few more steps and the figure was close enough for Anders to see that she was an elf. Velanna scrambled to her feet. “Seranni!”

Velanna hurried to the bars and reached out, touching her sister’s face affectionately. “Seranni, what are you doing here? Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” Seranni said, but Anders could tell that she was a long way from “fine.” Dark patches of skin, sunken eyes—she had been exposed to the taint.

Seranni held out her hand, showing a key lying flat on her palm. “I’ve come to get you out, but you have to hurry—he could come back at any second.”

“Who could come back?” Gideon asked, his brow furrowed. It was clear that he had also noticed Seranni’s condition. “The one who kidnapped you? Was it the darkspawn?”

Seranni shook her head. “No one kidnapped me, I’m fine. He’s _helping_ me. He’s good to me.”

“Who?” Gideon asked again, rather more impatiently.

“The Architect,” Seranni said. The tone of her voice when she said the name was almost worshipful.

Gideon looked thoughtful. “The Architect . . . that must have been who I saw before I blacked out.”

“You saw someone?” Nathaniel asked, surprised.

Gideon nodded. “At the top of the stairs. It was a darkspawn, I’m sure, but I’ve never seen anything like it before. It knew who I was; it called me ‘Warden Commander.’”

Nathaniel looked unsettled. “I don’t like the idea of talking darkspawn, but I like the idea of one of them knowing who you are even less.”

“Tell me about it,” Gideon said. “It’s not surprising that the thing recognized us as Wardens—they can sense the taint in us just as we can sense it in them—but it _is_ surprising that it knew I’m the commander. I wonder what it wants from us . . . darkspawn don’t usually take prisoners.”

“Except for women,” Anders mumbled under his breath, glancing at Seranni. Gideon shot a glare at him but didn’t respond.

Seranni fitted the key into the lock on the cell door. “He’s trying to help, really he is—but . . . I don’t think it’s going the way he wants it to.”

Gideon pushed open the unlocked door. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t . . . I don’t know. I don’t really understand what he’s doing.” She took a smaller key out of her pocket and handed it to Gideon. “This is the key to his room; maybe there’s something in there that will help you.”

“Help us with what?”

The girl shook her head, her expression a mixture of fear and confusion. “I have to go before he finds out I’m gone. I’m not supposed to help you. He wants—” she paused, looking uncertain. “I’m not supposed to help you,” she repeated.

“Seranni, wait!” Velanna called out as the girl turned to leave. She pushed past Gideon and rushed out of the cell, but she wasn’t fast enough. Seranni broke into a run and dashed through a side door. Velanna tried to go after her, to no avail. Beyond the door there were several passages, and Seranni was nowhere in sight.

She turned back to Gideon. “He’s holding her prisoner. He—he must have done something to her mind. Brainwashed her.”

Gideon looked away, catching Anders’ eye. “It’s the taint,” he murmured to Anders, too quiet for Velanna to hear. Anders nodded his head. He was a little surprise by Gideon’s handling of the situation. Either he had slowly become more diplomatic over the last few months, or he had taken a shining to Velanna; either way, he obviously wanted to spare her feelings by not letting her know of her sister’s condition—one that would subject her to a slow and painful death.

“We need to find her,” Velanna insisted.

“First, we need to find some weapons,” Gideon said rationally. “I very much doubt this Architect is here alone, and I’m not too thrilled at the idea of getting into fistfights with a bunch of darkspawn.”

He turned to Anders. “You can still cast spells without your staff, right?”

“Of course,” Anders replied. “I can even do it blindfolded, with both hands tied behind my back if I wanted.”

“Might be an improvement,” Oghren muttered.

“How about gagged?” Gideon asked ominously.

Anders took the hint, and tried to compose himself. It was not that he was in the mood to be flippant or humorous—it was just what he did when he was nervous. The times he had been in the Deep Roads, he had been more scared than anything, and he hadn’t spoken much because he was too occupied by the sheer terror of the situation. Being here in the cell was a different feeling. It brought back old, uncomfortable memories. Ones that were not necessarily terrifying, but extremely unsettling. He did not want to think about them, so he resorted to humor.

Seeing as how Gideon obviously didn’t approve, he was going to have to try and focus on something else. Luckily—ha!—the door they passed through led to a series of long, dark earthen tunnels.

“Just like the Deep Roads,” Anders said aloud. “Brings back _so many_ fond memories.”

Gideon just ignored him this time, thankfully. Anders nearly jumped out of his skin, though, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Relax,” Nathaniel said. “We’ll be out of this soon enough.” He smiled at Anders reassuringly before moving to the head of the group, relying on his and Gideon’s acute senses to alert them to any nearby darkspawn.

Once again, Nathaniel’s reassuring touch helped to calm Anders, and though he was still uneasy, he was not quite as jumpy.

There were a few darkspawn further down the tunnel, and Anders and Velanna made use of their magic to dispatch them before the creatures even had a chance to draw their weapons.

Anders was impressed by Velanna’s magic—it was like nothing he had ever seen before; certainly not a school of magic taught in the Circle. Tree roots literally shot up from the ground, trapping the darkspawn in one place. There must have been some sort of poison in the vines because as they lashed out at their victims, a green liquid oozed from the many cuts made by the sharp vines.

Gideon did not hesitate to grab the weapons the dead darkspawn dropped. A one-handed sword and a flimsy shield for himself, a two-handed axe for Oghren. Nathaniel grabbed a dagger, lamenting the fact that none of the darkspawn had been equipped with a bow. There were also a few pieces of leather armor, inferior in quality but better than nothing. Gideon parsed them out as best he could, so that each of them had at least _one_ area of their body that was protected.

They managed to accumulate more armor—and a semi-decent bow for Nathaniel—by way of the few darkspawn scattered through the tunnels. Set into the side of one such tunnel was a large, ornate door. Gideon pulled out the key Seranni had given him and turned it in the lock. The lock clicked home with a quiet _snick_ and Gideon pushed the large door open.

The room inside looked like a combination of living quarters and study, with a bed tucked into one corner and two desks fitted into another corner. A chest against the far wall produced a few nice trinkets, but Gideon seemed more interested in a small book he found lying on one of the desks. He scanned a few of the pages as the others searched through the rest of the room.

“Look at this.” Gideon handed the open book to Nathaniel. Curious, Anders peered over Nathaniel’s shoulder to get a better look at the book. By the dates listed at the top of each page, it appeared to be a journal. The handwriting was small and cramped and he had to press closer to Nathaniel to make out what was written. He lost focus of where he was for a few moments as he inhaled Nathaniel’s scent and basked in the head radiating from Nathaniel’s body.

“What does it say?” Velanna asked impatiently, jarring Anders. “Does it say what happened to Seranni?”

“There was someone called a Seeker,” Gideon replied. “A darkspawn by the sound of it. He’s the one who took Seranni and brought her here.”

“It seems that he was also the one who set things up to make it look as if the humans had stolen your sister,” Nathaniel added, reading through the journal. “He wanted to see how your leader would react.”

Velanna frowned. “The Keeper didn’t want to do anything, she thought we should try to be peaceful, to get Seranni back without a fight. But I know how shems are. They deserved to die, all of them!”

“But they didn’t even do it!” Anders protested, glaring at her.

Velanna shrugged. “I thought they did. I was wrong.” Anders could not believe how casual she was being about the many men she had slaughtered. Based on this journal and Velanna’s statement, _she_ had been the one to goad her people into fighting the human soldiers, and then she had murdered all of the surviving humans in revenge. She’d even taken her wrath out on the merchants traveling through the woods—innocent people who had had nothing to do with the dispute.

“Does it say anything about Seranni?” Velanna asked anxiously. “About what they did to her?”

Nathaniel seemed hesitant to answer. “It says—”

“—Just that she was captured,” Gideon interrupted, giving Nathaniel and Anders a pointed look. “Nothing of any help.”

Velanna seemed to deflate for just a moment before she rallied once more. “When we find her, I’ll ask her myself,” she said determinedly.

Gideon nodded. “I have a few questions for her myself.”

Anders could guess at what Gideon wanted to know about, and it had to do with the last paragraph of the note:

“ _The female elf has developed a . . . bond of sorts with her guard. Many of the other disciples seem drawn to her as well. The Seeker says her name is Seranni. Perhaps I should speak to her. Maybe she will understand.”_

Anders wondered just how much of a prisoner Seranni now was. Or if she had, for whatever reason, become allies with this Architect. Perhaps he had some sort of mind-control abilities, or he had brainwashed her in some other way. Or maybe he had threatened her with something dire if she refused to comply with him.

Gideon took the journal pages back from Nathaniel and laid them back on the desk face down, not offering them to Velanna to read for herself. Anders agreed with Gideon’s decision—there was no need for Velanna to know that her sister was cooperating with the Architect, had maybe even befriended him in some weird way.

It didn’t actually matter in the grand scheme of things, unfortunately. Seranni was tainted; even if they managed to get her out of here safely, it likely wouldn’t be long before her mind completely degraded. She had seemed lucid enough when she had broken them out of their cell, so the disease hadn’t had long to progress, but it would catch up to her sooner or later. Anders might not like Velanna, but he felt pity for her sister. Pity for Velanna, as well, truth be told. Because when the time came, either Velanna would have to watch Gideon end Seranni’s life, or she would have to do it herself. Guiltily, Anders found himself hoping that they wouldn’t actually find Seranni.

Just past the Architect’s quarters was a long balcony, looking out over a large room. In the very center was a large statue of some unknown person; crowded around the statue were several darkspawn. Gideon cursed under his breath. “We can’t take on that many armed like this.”

Nathaniel pointed to a ballista on the other side of the balcony. “If we aim at the statue, we might be able to knock it over so it will crush the darkspawn.”

Gideon smiled devilishly. “I like the way you think, Howe.”

Given that the ballista was basically a huge crossbow on wheels, Nathaniel—as the archer in the group—was assigned to operate the unwieldy machine. At Gideon’s nod, Nathaniel aimed the ballista and pulled the lever. The heavy bolt flew true and hit the large statue, dead-center. The force was enough to shatter it into several large chunks that fell to the ground, crushing all but two of the darkspawn.

Gideon and the others pelted down the stairs and quickly slayed the remaining disoriented hurlocks.

Ander grinned over at Nathaniel as they stripped the bodies of any useful armor and weapons. “Nice aim.”

Nathaniel rewarded him with a small smile. “High praise, coming from you.”

They pressed onwards, down several more long, winding tunnels. Finally, they turned the corner and stepped into a large cavern; on the far side was a strange figure shuffling around slowly and grunting to itself. It wasn’t a darkspawn, that much was apparent, but it didn’t exactly look human either. It looked like something that _used_ to be human—before being exposed to the taint. The armor it was wearing looked oddly familiar . . .

“ _Hey!_ ” Oghren yelled. “That _thing’s_ wearing myjunk!” He hefted his rusty axe, his face nearly purple with rage.

“ _NO ONE . . . TOUCHES . . . OGHREN’S JUNK AND LIVES!”_ The dwarf charged forward and swung wildly, his axe lodging itself firmly in the thing’s neck, severing its head in the blink of an eye.

The others just stood there, completely nonplussed by Oghren’s fury. “Maker’s breath,” Anders muttered, “he _really_ doesn’t like people touching his junk.” The ridiculousness of the situation became too much, and laughter bubbled up from him. “No wonder he and his wife aren’t together anymore.”

Gideon snorted with laughter. “Interesting theory.”

Oghren, in the process of undressing the corpse to get his belongings back, glared up at them. “I just don’t like people messin’ with my stuff.” Grumbling the whole time, he grabbed up all of his armor and retreated down the tunnel they’d just come in from so he could change in privacy.

Not much further in, they encountered another ghoul—this one wearing Velanna’s robes and gripping her staff tightly. Several other ghouls rushed in from a nearby tunnel; most were wearing plain clothes, but three of them were dressed in the rest of the Wardens’ stolen armor and wielding their weapons.

Once Gideon had wrested his sword from his ghoulish “twin,” the fight went pretty fast. Afterwards, the group spent several minutes sorting through the bodies, collecting all of their things. Velanna, Gideon and Nathaniel went to separate areas to change, away from prying eyes, but Anders just stripped down where he was, in the middle of the cave. Years of dressing and undressing in front of others in the Circle had erased any possible shyness he might have about his body. As he had once told Nathaniel, if they didn’t want to see it, they didn’t have to look. Oghren apparently had no interest in looking as he huffed off towards the other end of the cavern, growling as usual about “sodding mages.”

Once everyone was back in their own gear, they set off down the tunnel on the far end of the cavern. A loud groan sounded from a small side passageway, halting their movements. Gideon held up his hand, stopping the others. Slowly, he crept forward, peering into the entrance. After a moment he motioned for the others to follow.

Lying on the floor of a tiny alcove was a man, clearly wounded and, by his pinched face and harsh groans, in extreme pain. His legs were twisted unnaturally and they appeared to have been crushed. Anders felt a faint tingle, the same that he felt whenever he was near one of his fellow Wardens.

Anders knelt down on the floor, running his hands over the man’s mangled legs as Gideon asked “What in Andraste’s name are you doing here?”

The man cracked an eye open and looked up at Gideon. “You’re Fereldan . . . I can tell by your accent.” His own voice had a thick Orlesian accent. “Are—are you the new Warden Commander?”

Gideon nodded. “You’re one of the Orlesian Wardens sent to Vigil’s Keep to help out, aren’t you?”

The man nodded, wincing. Anders was still assessing the damage, but he could tell that they were too late. The man was emaciated, practically skin and bones, and although there was a water skin next to him, its flatness indicated it was empty. The Warden had likely been down here for weeks, maybe longer. His wounds were not new, that was certain—the bones felt like they had already begun knitting in a twisted, mangled fashion. There was a sickly-sweet smell in the air and when Anders borrowed Nathaniel’s dagger and slit the man’s right pant leg open, the leg was swollen and discolored. He checked the other leg and found it in the same condition. The damage was just too much, and it had happened too long ago.

Add in the fact that the Warden hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for Maker knew how long, and he was near death. Anders’ healing skills were excellent, he had been the most talented healer in the Circle, but even he couldn’t save this man. His brows knitted as frustration surged through him. It seemed that every wounded man they encountered was beyond Anders’ ability to save. What was the good of being able to cast healing magic if he couldn’t even save anyone with it?

Anders looked up at Gideon and shook his head silently. The Commander nodded in understanding.

“What’s your name?” Gideon asked the Warden.

“Ke-Keenan. I was part of the Warden contingent from Orlais, like you said. We were only there for a week when the darkspawn set upon us. They came up from everywhere . . . we never even sensed them.

“I’m the only one left,” he said despairingly. “The others are all dead . . . or worse . . .”

Gideon frowned. “Worse? What do you mean?”

Keenan swallowed. “Don’t know for sure, Commander. But I wasn’t the only one of us brought down here. There were others with me—but I haven’t seen them. That emissary who’s leading the darkspawn, he’s cunning. He’s fascinated with Grey Wardens. I think . . . I think he experimented on some of the others who came in with me.” He swallowed. “I heard their screams,” he said despairingly, “so many screams . . . . For days and days . . . maybe even years . . .”

“What are you doing in this tunnel?” Gideon asked, trying to get the man to focus. “Why didn’t you end up like the others?”

“I would have,” Keenan said. “We were all in cells. The darkspawn came, took the other Wardens one by one, until I was the only one left. When it was my turn, only one came. I managed to kill him and escape into the tunnels. But I ran into a troll . . . big, mean . . . he had a huge mallet . . . smashed my legs. I crawled in here.” He laughed bitterly. “And this is where I’ll die.”

Gideon was not the type of man to give empty reassurances; he didn’t bother with any false promises of getting Keenan to safety, of fixing him. It was clear, beyond a doubt, that Keenan really would die here.

“Commander,” Keenan stretched his hand out, weakly beckoning to Gideon. “Please . . . my wedding ring. Take it—take it back to Amaranthine. To my wife, Nida. She works at the Crown and Lion.”

Gideon nodded. “I will make sure she gets it,” he said. Keenan’s hand clenched loosely—once, twice, before finally relaxing and falling to his side. He let out a low, rattling breath and went still.

Gideon reached out and closed Keenan’s eyes. “Be at peace, brother.” He took Keenan’s lifeless hand and gently slid the plain gold band from his ring finger. He stowed it away in his pack before getting to his feet and leaving the tiny alcove.

They crept quietly down the tunnel, none of them eager to encounter the troll that had attacked Keenan. At the end of the hall was a pair of thick double doors; standing just to the right of the door was a tall, burly-looking man, his skin dark brown, with white hair braided into cornrows. There was something not quite human about him.

“Is that a qunari?” Anders whispered to Nathaniel, who had only ever seen one in pictures.

“I think so,” Nathaniel replied.

Gideon approached the man. “You’re an awfully long way from Seheron, my friend.”

“Perhaps,” the qunari said. “Though the Architect pays well for my goods.”

Gideon’s eyes widened. “You’re actually trading with _darkspawn?_ Do you even know what those bastards do?”

The qunari shrugged. “It is no concern of mine what they choose to do. As I said, they pay well. Beyond that I could not care less.”

Gideon looked at him appraisingly. “What if I said I could pay you more?”

“Then perhaps I could be persuaded to trade with you instead.”

“I’m the commander of the Grey Wardens, stationed at Vigil’s Keep. If you go there, I promise you that you’ll be well compensated for any goods you can provide for us.”

The qunari seemed to think about it for a moment. “Very well. It will be good to see the sun again, and feel the fresh air. I will meet you there soon.”

Gideon nodded and gave directions on how to get to the Keep before bidding farewell. As the qunari set off the way they had just come—likely to fetch the remainder of his supplies—Gideon turned towards the door.

They all knew instinctively that they were close to the end of their journey through the mine. With a quick glance back at the others, Gideon pushed at one of the doors—it opened slowly, with an ominous creak.

“Warden Commander.” A wet, breathy voice sounded from above. Anders looked up to see a tall figure standing at the railing of a balcony. It looked like a darkspawn, but not any kind Anders had seen before. It was thin—almost emaciated-looking—and dressed in floor-length robes with heavy fur pauldrons. Its eyes were covered by a mask, and the rest of its face was crisscrossed with thick scars. The top of its head was conical, and topped with what looked like strange, misshapen horns.

Seranni was standing to the left of him, looking tense but compliant. To his right was a dwarven woman, and even from this distance Anders could see that she, too, was tainted.

The Architect—for that’s surely who this creature must be—raised his hand imperiously, and there was the leathery sound of wings flapping. Anders’ head whipped around as he saw two red dragons swoop down on the Wardens. They were too small to be high dragons, but they were certainly fierce. As the dragons landed hard on the floor—their claws scraping along the stone—Gideon raised his sword and shield and charged at the nearest one.

The dragons’ hides were thick, and difficult to penetrate, and the fire constantly streaming from their maws meant that almost all of Anders’ efforts were spent in keeping his comrades shielded from the flames. Again and again, Velanna proved herself to be a strong combatant, using a combination of her special nature magic and other, more common, elemental spells.

It took a great deal of effort to weaken the dragons enough to finally slay them; Gideon beheaded one of them with his large broadsword, and Nathaniel struck the other in the throat with an arrow that Velanna had enchanted with ice.

The Architect and his companions—or prisoners, or whatever they were—hadn’t moved at all during the entire battle. When the dragons lay dead on the ground the Architect cast one long look at Gideon before turning and heading towards the tunnel behind him.

Velanna cried out as Seranni followed him. “Seranni! Wait!” Velanna’s sister did not pause, or even acknowledge her in any way. As the elf and dwarf disappeared down the tunnel, the Architect stopped and turned back. Rising up from the ground, he summoned a huge ball of white-hot flames and cast it at the ceiling just above the mouth of the cave. Enormous boulders came crashing down, sealing the way behind them. There was now no way for Velanna and the Wardens to follow him or to get Seranni.

Velanna turned to Gideon. “We have to get her back!”

Gideon sighed. “They’re gone, Velanna. These tunnels could go on forever; they probably lead all the way down to the Deep Roads. That bastard is cunning, and looks to be a powerful mage as well. If he doesn’t want us to find him, we likely won’t.”

“But he has my sister! _My sister!_ You’re just going to let him keep her prisoner?”

“She didn’t look like much of a prisoner to me,” Anders said dryly.

Velanna rounded on him, glaring. “Of course she’s a prisoner! Do you really think she would go with him willingly?”

Nathaniel came to Anders’ defense, much to Anders’ relief. “She _did_ go with him willingly,” he said gently—a little more gently than Anders was comfortable with. “She was moving of her own free will; she didn’t try to fight him.”

“She also didn’ try to stop him from sic’ing a couple of dragons on her sister, either,” Oghren grumbled.

“But, why?” Velanna seemed to accept from Nathaniel what she would not accept from Anders. “Why would she go with him?”

“I don’t know, Velanna,” Gideon said. “But if she’s allied herself with him for some reason, it’s likely she’ll be headed to the Deep Roads with him.”

“Then that is where I’ll go,” Velanna said determinedly, eyes hard. “You’re Grey Wardens; I have heard that you have the power to sense darkspawn, even underground.”

Gideon looked at her warily. “That’s true . . .”

“Then make _me_ a Warden. Give me the ability to hunt down these monsters, and find my sister.”

Anders’ jaw dropped; was this elf _really_ asking for Gideon to make her a _Warden_? After all that she had done?

To Anders’ relief, Gideon looked skeptical. “Becoming a Warden is no easy matter. For one thing, the Joining itself could kill yo—”

“I am not afraid of death,” Velanna interrupted angrily.

“For another,” Gideon went on, “we’re dedicated to fighting darkspawn, no matter where they are. If you become a Warden, finding your sister _is not_ our top priority.”

“I can find her myself,” Velanna said. “All I ask for is the ability to do so. In exchange for that, I will pledge myself to you. Perhaps if I stay with you long enough, we will encounter the Architect again, and I can get Seranni back. Until then, I will fight with you.”

Gideon was silent for a while, his brow furrowed. Finally he nodded. “All right. You can come back to Vigil’s Keep with us, and we’ll put you through the Joining. If you survive, I’ll hold you to your word: you’ll carry out the duties of a Warden, no matter what.”

Anders wanted so badly to object, to list all of the reasons why this was the most stupendously bad idea he had ever heard of; even worse than conscripting a man who had admitted to plotting to kill Gideon. He kept his mouth shut, though. Once Gideon made up his mind about something, he rarely changed it. He had made it clear time and time again that it was his decision alone regarding who could and could not join the Wardens.

Velanna was obviously surprised that Gideon had accepted her offer so readily, but she did not say anything about it either. “Well, then . . . lead the way. I am eager to be rid of this place.”


	21. Chapter 21

By the time they got back to the keep, Anders was in a thunderous mood. Not surprisingly, it was all because of Velanna. Precious, perfect Velanna, who, according to Nathaniel, could do no wrong. Never mind the fact that she had killed all those innocent people, just because she hadn’t bothered to find out the truth about her sister’s kidnapping—that trivial, inconsequential fact apparently didn’t matter.

When Anders heard Nathaniel call Velanna a “pretty brush” while they were camped one night, he had nearly choked on the lamb stew he’d been eating. It wasn’t that Velanna wasn’t beautiful—she was—it was just such a cheesy line to use. And this coming from someone who usually had no problem using clichéd pick-up lines on people he was interested in.

Anders had decided to try a little experiment and had hit on Velanna himself. Her response was that she found “most humans physically and morally repulsive.” The fact that she seemed be separating Nathaniel from this classification was definitely unsettling. There were already so many reasons for Anders to not like Velanna, but the fact that she seemed amenable to Nathaniel’s not-so-subtle advances made him like her even less.

Despite his misgivings, he really was trying to be nice to her, to give her the benefit of the doubt. Nathaniel was a good man, and if he could find good things in Velanna, surely Anders could as well? His suggestion of them pooling their magical knowledge together was soundly and completely shut down, though. She had even gone so far as to accuse him of trying to steal her ideas regarding the spells she cast that were apparently known only to the Dalish. Pointing out that she couldn’t heal so much as a mild headache, and that he was a skilled healer who would gladly share his knowledge with her, was met with a scowl. “ _That_ sort of magic is _easy_ , she had said. “I could learn it if I wanted to; I don’t need you to teach me.”

Anders gave up trying to talk to her after that. Nathaniel obviously had a masochistic streak that he’d kept hidden up until now—no one in their right mind could actually like Velanna. Even Oghren didn’t seem to care for her, and he liked pretty much everyone.

Night after night on the journey back to the Keep, Anders had to sit at camp and watch Nathaniel and Velanna talking together. At first, he wasn’t overly bothered by it, as Velanna turned her nose up at every one of Nathaniel’s attempts to befriend her, just like she’d done with Anders. But more and more, she seemed to be warming up to him, at least a little. Anders seriously doubted she would ever turn into some starry-eyed, soppy damsel from one of the romance novels that Anders occasionally read out of boredom, but she was definitely responding more favorably to Nathaniel’s compliments. There were a couple of occasions where it even seemed as if Velanna was blushing, but it could have just been the light from the campfire reflecting off of her pale skin.

Anders tried his best to just ignore the whole thing and spent his time talking to Oghren, or sometimes even Gideon; but his eyes always strayed back to Nathaniel and Velanna. It wasn’t as if they were doing anything intimate, they were just talking, for Andraste’s sake. But they were talking low enough that Anders couldn’t tell what exactly they were talking about. Was Nathaniel really trying to woo her? Was he even now telling her how much he adored her pointy elven ears or her perky breasts? Actually, Anders could strike that last one off the list; Nathaniel was too much of a gentleman to actually comment on a woman’s breasts.

Anders, of course, was not such a gentleman, and he had had no compunctions about commenting on Velanna’s pert breasts within an hour of her first joining up with them back in the Wending Wood. He had dodged the slap she had aimed at his face with ease—it wasn’t the first time a woman had tried to slap him. Sigrun always acted much more favorably to Anders’ compliments, treating them mostly as being good fun, but he could tell that she was also a little flattered.

And it wasn’t empty flattery either—Sigrun was quite good looking, much to Anders’ surprise. There were no dwarves in the Circle of Magi—dwarves weren’t physically capable of casting magic—and it was rare to see dwarves living on the surface, away from Orzammar. Anders’ experience of dwarves prior to meeting Sigrun had been an armorer in Denerim, Oghren, and the Glavonak brothers. Seeing as how none of these men had been in any way attractive, Anders had been a bit concerned that dwarven women might be equally unattractive. He had been pleasantly surprised the first time he had seen Sigrun out of her armor. With her dark chestnut hair and full figure, she was actually very pretty. In other circumstances, Anders would have put more effort into pursuing her.

Times were different though, and ever since that night with Nathaniel, Anders hadn’t bedded anyone—man or woman. It wasn’t really a conscious choice, it was merely that no one he encountered held nearly as much appeal as Nathaniel did. There were more than a few people in the Keep and in Amaranthine who Anders found to be desirable, but it was as if that small taste of Nathaniel had spoiled him for all other treats, no matter how delicious they looked. In a way, he had actually kind of been hoping that Velanna would accept his casual advances. Maybe sleeping with someone that he sort of loathed would help cleanse his palate and allow him to return to his pleasant lifestyle of sleeping with anyone and everyone who caught his eye. _Right,_ he thought ruefully, _good luck with that._

They were half a day’s journey from Vigil’s Keep when they stopped for one last night camping out. Velanna was in a surly mood due to the fact that Anders had been not-so-subtly taunting her all day. He brought up various topics such as some of the more interesting rumors that people said about the Dalish (none of them flattering), commented on her pointed ears—he even poked fun at her magical abilities. All the time he was testing her, looking for her weaknesses and trying to discover which topics she was most sensitive about. On top of wanting to torment her as much as possible, he found that he was quite enjoying himself. Velanna could actually give as good as she got at times, even going so far as to brag about how her fireballs were bigger than his. When he commented that it was not the size that counted, she made a crack about how all men said such things.

If circumstances had been different, he might have actually liked Velanna, at least a little. But he could not forgive her for what she had done. He had heard Nathaniel asking her about it on more than one occasion, about how she felt about killing all of those innocent people over a misunderstanding. Her comment that she felt warm and fuzzy about it turned his stomach. Anders could joke about a great deal of inappropriate things, but that was going too far. The worst part was that he was afraid that she might not actually have been joking.

Jealousy also played a large part in his dislike of her. It wasn’t reasonable for Anders to assume that Nathaniel would never pair up with someone else, but that didn’t stop him from secretly hoping Nathaniel wouldn’t. Nor did it stop him from daydreaming that one day soon Nathaniel would come to his senses and throw himself at Anders. But if Nathaniel were to fall in love with someone else, that dream would be dashed.

Anders’ ribbing of Velanna continued even after they’d made camp, until Nathaniel grabbed him by the collar and pulled him behind one of the tents. Anders might have thought that Nathaniel was planning on an impromptu snog were it not for the thunderous look on his face.

“You need to stop with Velanna,” Nathaniel said angrily.

Anders snorted. “I could say the same of you.”

“What?” Nathaniel looked at Anders in confusion for a moment, before shaking his head. “I want you to stop picking on her.”

“Why should I?” Anders folded his arms. “She deserves worse than what she’s getting from me. Or have you forgotten all of those corpses we found in the Wending Wood?”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Nathaniel said, “but your constant teasing of her is just childish. I thought you were a better person than that.”

Anders flushed with embarrassment. The last thing he needed was to be chastised by Nathaniel. “I’m _so sorry_ I’ve been mean to your girlfriend,” he said sarcastically. “I didn’t realize she had such a delicate disposition.”

Nathaniel looked thoroughly confused. “Why would you call her my girlfriend?”

“Oh, please!” Anders huffed. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, the way you talk to her. Telling her she’s a _pretty brush_ , calling her ‘my lady.’ It’s pretty obvious you want to get into her knickers.”

He realized he had gone too far with that last comment; Nathaniel’s furrowed brow and clenched fists betrayed how angry he was. “I am going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he said coldly. “I _do not_ just use people like that.” He turned and walked towards his tent. “Leave Velanna alone, Anders. I mean it.”

Anders made a face at Nathaniel, emboldened by the fact that Nathaniel couldn’t see him do so. As he trudged towards his own tent, he saw Velanna sitting alone by the fire, Oghren passed out next to her. She had a disgusted look on her face—obviously she was not pleased to be paired up with the dwarf for the first watch. Anders pondered going over to her and offering her a half-hearted apology to appease Nathaniel, but decided against it. He could deal with that tomorrow. Or next year, possibly.

OoOoO

They broke camp immediately after breakfast the next morning, everyone eager to get back to the comfort of the Keep. A warm fire and soft beds awaited Anders and the other Grey Wardens; a goblet full of darkspawn blood awaited Velanna. As much as Anders might dislike her, he still hoped she survived the Joining. Oghren had told Anders what it had been like when Mhairi perished, and Anders would not wish that on anyone.

The trek home was quieter than usual, as Anders was doing his best not to talk to Velanna at all, not wanting to raise Nathaniel’s ire. Nathaniel was avoiding Anders, likely because he was still sore at him, but he was not talking to Velanna either, which was surprising. Gideon was subdued, likely thinking ahead to the Joining that he would be putting Velanna through in just a few hours. He had been withdrawn like that before Sigrun’s Joining, as well; he obviously didn’t relish that part of the Warden-Commander’s duties. Oghren was the only one who was talking, and seeing as how he was drunk as usual, most of his talking came in the form of singing bawdy songs, hideously off-key. He didn’t shut up until Gideon threatened to feed him to the next ogre they ran across.

Luckily for all of them, they didn’t encounter any darkspawn on the way back to the Keep, but when they arrived in the courtyard, it was quite obvious that all was not well. Garavel and Varel were standing at the top of the steps, trying in vain to calm the large angry mob gathered at the bottom. Men and women, even a few children—all of them clearly from the farmsteads surrounding the Keep, rather than from the city. There was so much shouting going on from both sides that it was difficult to tell what exactly was going on. The Keep’s soldiers were surrounding the crowd, trying in vain to fight them back without causing violence.

Gideon strode through the courtyard quickly and bounded up the steps. Not wanting to be stuck down with the angry mob, the rest of the Wardens followed after him.

“What in the hell is going on?” Gideon asked. It was the Seneschal who answered.

“They’ve been out here all morning, Commander. It’s a relief you’re back. We’ve been able to keep them under control so far, but things are turning ugly.”

Garavel scowled. “The good Seneschal will not let me give the order to use force.”

“Of course I won’t,” Varel said angrily. “There are women and children down there if you hadn’t noticed.”

Gideon raised his hand, stopping Garavel’s protest. “What are they so pissed off about? And why are you arguing with them? You should be trying to calm them down.”

“Rabble like this can’t be _calmed_ ,” Garavel said impatiently. “An uprising such as this needs to be _put down._ By any means necessary.”

“I am not going to commit violence against my subjects just because they’re protesting.” Gideon looked out over the crowd and shouted loud enough to be heard. “Anyone want to tell me what’s going on?” The cacophony of voices became even louder as everyone tried to yell out their complaints at the same time.

One man’s voice was finally able to rise above all others. “Ye’ve shut the granaries down, people are starving!” The rest of the crowd shouted in agreement.

“Open the granaries you bastards!” An unknown voice cried from the back. “Feed your people!”

“I would bet you any amount of money that the traitors against you put the peasants up this,” Varel said lowly to Gideon. “They would not have gathered like this on their own. Someone has planted the seeds of dissent into their minds.”

“Give me the order, Commander,” Garavel said, hand on the pommel of his sheathed sword.

Gideon shook his head. “That’s not going to happen.”

He raised his arms, pushing his hands down as a signal to get everyone to quiet. It actually worked, save for a bit of grumbling here and there. “Now, then. If you all will just calm down a bit, I’m sure we can handle this peacefully.”

The man who had first spoken yelled out. “We got no reason to settle peacefully! Yer–”

A woman standing next to him shushed him. “Let the Commander speak,” she said. “He’s been good to us before, let him have his say.”

Gideon nodded his head to her in thanks. “As I said,” he addressed the crowd again, “we can handle this without fuss. I will open the granaries again.”

The man’s eyes widened in surprise. “What? Really?”

Garavel echoed his disbelief. “Commander if you give them an inch they’ll take a mile. You cannot just give in to their demands.”

“I can this time,” Gideon said. “It’s not about us winning or losing, it’s about doing what’s best for the people. I made the wrong decision before, I’ll own up to that and set it right.”

He looked out over the crowd. “I will give the order to have them reopened. I will make sure that _no one_ goes hungry.”

The noise of the crowd surged up again, only this time it was words of praise and thanks, hailing Gideon as a kind man and a good ruler. Gideon grimaced a little at that; it was clear he still wasn’t comfortable being in such a position of power. Leading the Grey Wardens was an easy thing for him—it took strength, courage, and the ability to fight and command a small group of people. Ruling over an entire land took diplomacy, a good deal of political savvy, and the heavy burden of knowing that choosing wrong could affect thousands of people. Anders did not envy him at all.

The crowd slowly dispersed, with one or two casting not very pleased looks back at Gideon—apparently not everyone would be appeased so easily. Anders noticed Gideon giving each of them long, hard looks and imagined he was taking note of their faces for future reference.

“Glad that’s over,” Gideon said, turning back to the others. “I don’t know if I’ll get off so easily next time; I need to earn these people’s trust.”

The Seneschal nodded at him. “Very true, Commander. Not all of the peasants hated Rendon Howe—some of them believed him to be a good ruler, just as some of the nobles did. And, speaking of nobles . . . there are a few inside waiting for you.”

Gideon looked wary. “They just happened to show up in the middle of a riot?”

“It would seem so, ser. They insisted on being shown into the throne room; they said they had important business with you.”

Gideon sighed. “ _Everyone_ has important business with me, it seems. Very well.” He nodded to Garavel and gave him orders to disperse his soldiers before turning and going into the Keep, Varel and the others following behind.

When they entered the throne room, alarm bells instantly started to go off in Anders’ head. Esmerelle and a few other nobles were standing around, all of them dressed in armor—not the typical style of dress for nobles who were meeting with their Arl for an important discussion.

The burly man standing next to Bann Esmerelle looked extremely familiar to Anders, though he knew it hadn’t been from the fealty ceremony. It took him a few moments to realize that the man was Ser Temmerly—the man who had brutally murdered that woman who apparently had proof of the conspiracy against the Arl of Amaranthine.

Gideon noticed him as well, eyebrows going up in surprise. “Bann Esmerelle,” he said smoothly, bowing to her just enough to show respect but still retaining eye contact. “It is an honor to be graced with your presence.” The tone of his voice indicated that it was not much of an honor at all. “And Ser Temmerly. I can’t say it’s so much an honor as it is a surprise. I had thought you were having a nice stay in our dungeon.” His eyes cut to Seneschal Varel, making it very clear that words would be had about this particular matter later.

Temmerly laughed. “I got an early parole, you might say.”

“Or help from your friends,” Gideon growled. “What do you want, Esmerelle?” All pretenses at politeness had vanished.

“You killed Rendon,” Esmerelle spat. “Did you _really_ think you would be able to get away with that? I had thought his own blood,” her eyes flitted to Nathaniel briefly, “would have been more than capable of taking care of you, but he has obviously turned traitor, just as the Couslands did.”

Nathaniel advanced towards her angrily, stopped only by Gideon’s hand on his chest. “You were the one who told Nathaniel about his father, weren’t you. You spread those lies about my family allying ourselves with Orlais.”

“Your father was a traitor!” Ser Temmerly bellowed. “All here know it!”

Gideon ignored him for the moment, his eyes still on Esmerelle. “You’re a fool to have believed Nathaniel would do your dirty work for you. He is a good man, far better than his father ever was.”

Anders smiled to himself. His respect for Gideon—which had always been pretty high—had just gone up tenfold. He watched as Nathaniel relaxed slightly, and Gideon lowered his hand.

“So you’re here for revenge, is that it?” Gideon glared at Esmerelle. “You’re going to pit yourself and a few other soft, spoiled noblemen against me and my Grey Wardens?”

Esmerelle smirked. “Oh, it will not just be us pitting ourselves against you.” She let out a piercing whistle—a signal for several figures who had been hiding in the shadows to suddenly emerge. One of the men raised his bow and fired an arrow, straight at Gideon. Before the warrior had time to react, Varel raised his arm in front of Gideon, in an attempt to shield him. It worked, in a way—instead of hitting Gideon, it slammed into Varel’s forearm with a meaty thunk. The Seneschal cried out and fell to his knees, clutching at his arm.

Anders cast a quick regenerative spell on the seneschal to keep him somewhat safe; there was no time to do anything more than that as the newly arrived warriors began to descend on them.

There were half a dozen of them, all dressed in light leathers, save for one. In the little time that he had to think of such things, Anders took in the fine cut of the man’s black leather armor, far richer and more expensive-looking than the others. His sword was of finely made steel, and he had tattoos on his arms and face—though Anders couldn’t make them out very clearly. A few of the others had tattoos as well, but it was obvious that this man was the leader.

All of these thoughts ran though Anders’ mind in a matter of seconds, the short time it took for him to register their presence to the point where the leader had his sword drawn and was headed for Gideon. The nobles present had also drawn their weapons, and had eagerly jumped into the fray.

Anders hurriedly cast a warding spell around Gideon, as he seemed to be the main target for most of the fighters. Bann Esmerelle, however, had her eye on someone else. The quarters were too close for Nathaniel to use his bow effectively, so he had his two daggers drawn and was dueling Esmerelle.

The ones who had been hiding in the shadow were good; it was obvious that they had been well trained. Mercenaries, perhaps. The nobles could certainly afford to pay for skilled fighters.

Near the end of the fight—with most of the nobles down, including Ser Temmerly—Esmerelle was still standing, though she was flagging. She had to know this was a battle she could no longer win; her allies and her hired fighters were all down, save for the leader. Still, she fought fiercely, refusing to give up. Perhaps because it was Nathaniel she was battling, and she refused to let Rendon’s “traitorous” son be the one to do her in.

Anders was actually a little surprised that Nathaniel hadn’t been able to finish her off yet, but from the defensive stance he continued to fall into, it seemed he was a little reluctant to take her down. Determined to help Nathaniel, and to hurry the battle to its inevitable end, Anders cast a walking bomb at Esmerelle. The noblewoman screamed as the poison burst through her veins.

“Andraste’s tits, Nathaniel,” Gideon called out as he fought the last mercenary standing, “just finish her already!”

Nathaniel finally seemed to shake himself and he took the opening presented to him as Esmerelle doubled over in pain. He stepped in neatly and slid one of his daggers into the vulnerable area beneath her armpit where the pauldrons and breastplate did not quite meet. He put all of his force behind sliding the dagger in, and it went far enough to pierce her heart.

Esmerelle fell to her knees, looking up at Nathaniel with hatred etched on her face. “Your father . . . was the better man.” She slumped against the floor, open eyes staring at nothing as she took her final rattling breath and went still.

The man who Gideon had been fighting redoubled his efforts, but to no avail. Oghren and Nathaniel joined Gideon, and the man fell dead, Oghren’s axe buried in his back.

Oghren pulled the axe out of the man with a disgusting squelching noise as Gideon and Anders hurried over to Seneschal Varel. He was conscious, but only barely. Gideon took out his dagger and sawed at the arrow still lodged in Varel’s arm until there was a large enough groove in it that he could break it in half. Instructing Nathaniel to hold Varel still, Gideon pulled the arrow shaft out. Varel cried out in pain, but Anders was casting a healing spell before the arrow was even completely removed.

A few moments of healing and the color was returning to Varel’s face. He nodded weakly to Anders. “My thanks to you. And to you as well, Commander.”

Gideon shook his head. “I should be the one thanking you—that arrow was meant for me.” He stood up and pulled Varel to his feet. “I appreciate your attempt to keep me from harm, but don’t ever pull a stunt like that again.” His words were hard, but Anders could see the concern that he was trying to conceal.

Gideon turned away and strode over to one of the prone figures, the one Anders had marked as the leader of the mercenaries. Gideon grasped the man’s wrist and pulled his arm up, inspecting the tattoo on his forearm. As Anders walked over to them, he saw that the tattoo was some sort of bird.

“Is that an eagle?” Anders asked.

Gideon shook his head. “A crow.” He stood up, his face grim. “An Antivan Crow, to be exact.”

“What in Andraste’s hairy arse-cheeks are the Crows doing, coming after you?” Oghren growled. “After everythin’ ya did for them.”

“Same as they always do,” Gideon said flatly, “taking what I imagine was a large sum of money to assassinate a pesky arl who was getting in the way.”

Anders looked around the room, taking in the carnage. “I wonder how hard it is to get blood out of carpet?” He toed at the dark red rug that covered the floor. “At least it’s the same color, maybe no one will even notice it.”

“Maker’s breath, Anders, do you have to make a joke of everything?” Nathaniel glared at the mage. “This is my family’s home. These—” he gestured to the bodies, “were my father’s most loyal servants. There is _nothing_ here to joke about.”

The small grin that had been on Anders’ face quickly faded. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “I didn’t mean anything.”

“You never do,” Nathaniel said crossly. He knelt down over Esmerelle’s body and reached for something that had been around her neck—a gold chain with a red-jeweled pendant hanging from it. He tugged on the chain, breaking it free from Esmerelle’s neck. He looked at the pendant for a moment before closing his fist around it and standing. Without a word, without even asking Gideon for leave, he walked out of the room.

“Such a lovely home you have here,” Velanna said sarcastically, startling them all. They were still unused to having her in the group, and Anders had lost track of where she was during the battle. Now she was shouldering her staff and wandering around the room, completely unmindful of the bodies. “Do you welcome all of your new Grey Wardens like this? Or am I just special?” She turned her head and smirked at Gideon, who completely ignored her.

Gideon was too busy talking with Oghren to pay attention to Velanna’s snark. “I’m telling you Oghren, it was the Crows. Look at his tattoos.”

Oghren grumbled. “They said they’d leave you alone, that there weren’ going to be any more contracts out on you.”

“Apparently they changed their minds. Gold has a tendency to do that, especially when there’s lots of it.” Gideon looked at the nobles. “Bann Esmerelle, Temmerly . . . Maker only knows how they got him out, we’ll need to check on the men who were supposed to be guarding the dungeon. Either they’re dead, or they were in on the treason—which means they will be dead very shortly.

“Lady Liza Packton, not a surprise at all. Lord Vondren, a few others I don’t recognize.” He looked up at Anders. “Here’s your conspiracy, right here.”

Anders nodded. “I recognize that man over there; he was definitely in that group of whisperers I saw during the fealty ceremony.” Anders looked over at the door Nathaniel had exited through, concerned.

“Don’t worry about him,” Gideon said, “he’ll be fine.” ~~~~

Anders looked back at him, brow creased. “How do you know that? He just killed his father’s closest confidant.” He pointed to Bann Esmerelle. “And apparently she was his father’s lover, as well. Did you hear what she told him at the end? Did you see how Nathaniel looked after she said those words?” Anders had; Nathaniel had looked absolutely crushed when Esmerelle said that his father was a better man. Anders did not believe that drivel for a second, but Nathaniel was sensitive when it came to his father.

“You’re supposed to be his friend,” Anders continued angrily. “And all you’ve got to say is that he’ll be fine?”

“He will,” Gideon said patiently. “I heard what Esmerelle said just as well as you did, and I saw what it did to him. But I know Nathaniel—he just needs some time to himself. He’s stronger than you think.”

“It’s not about being strong,” Anders waved his hand dismissively. “Even the strongest man can still have weaknesses.” He realized that everyone was staring at him, all with the same surprised look, save for Gideon. Gideon was actually smiling a little. “I know that, Anders,” he said calmly. “But just give him a little time to absorb what happened.” He looked over at Varel who was leaning against the wall, holding his arm gingerly. “You all right?”

The Seneschal nodded. “Yes, Commander. It just feels a bit sore, is all. I’ll be fine soon enough.”

“Very well.” Gideon nodded to Anders. “Get the Seneschal up to his room, and make sure he’s as healed as you can make him. I need him back on his feet as soon as possible.” Gideon nodded at the Seneschal. “You’ve important work here Varel, I’ll not have you dying on me yet.”

Seneschal Varel chuckled weakly. “Not yet, Commander. It will take more than a stray arrow to take me down.” He accepted Anders’ arm around his waist and leaned his weight against the mage. Anders slowly helped him out of the room, casting one last look back at Gideon, who was glaring down at Ser Temmerly’s body. Anders wondered if Gideon was right, and those had really been Antivan Crows. He had no reason to doubt Gideon’s assessment, but he was surprised to see them so far from home. The nobles must have paid them a great deal to get them to come all this way to assassinate Gideon.

Anders helped Varel up to his room, and despite the man’s feeble protests that he could do it himself, Anders helped him undress and get into his nightshirt. He cast one more healing spell on the Seneschal just to be sure, and slipped in a small spell to help him sleep.

Afterwards, Anders debated about whether or not he should go and check on Nathaniel. On the one hand, it was a healer’s duty to make sure everyone in his charge was safe and sound, especially after battle; but on the other hand, Nathaniel had clearly wanted to be alone. He also did not seem to be very happy with Anders at the moment.

Anders decided it was best to leave it until morning—he could check on Nathaniel before breakfast.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The full story about Nathaniel and Fergus' relationship can be found in my story [Establishing a Pattern](http://archiveofourown.org/works/451565/chapters/774446).

Nathaniel lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was clad only in his cotton breeches and undershirt, having stripped out of his blood-stained leathers as soon as he'd gotten to his chambers. They were in a heap on the floor now; he'd clean them and store them properly on the armor stand in the morning. His bow was propped up against the wall next to the bed.

His family's bow—the one that Nathaniel's ancestors had been wielding since its crafting during one of the Exalted Marches hundreds of years ago. How many foes had this bow slain? How much glory had it earned for its owners? And now it belonged to Nathaniel. He supposed he should be grateful that it had never been in his father's hands; he wasn't sure if he'd be able to use it if it had. Not after learning what his father had done during the Blight. The bow had shed the blood of countless beasts and men, but at least it hadn't been used in his father's treacherous endeavors.

Nathaniel had seen the bow only once in his youth. He'd found it while exploring the armory during a boring, rainy afternoon. His father had taken it from Nathaniel's hands when the boy brought it to him, asking about its origins. It was clear from how finely crafted it was—and from the family's crest—that this was no plain bow to be used by just anyone. Indeed, it had been hidden away in the very back of the armory. His father had been angry, though Nathaniel didn't understand why at the time; nor did he understand why Rendon hid the bow away somewhere else, forbidding Nathaniel from ever asking about it again.

It was the groundskeeper who had told Nathaniel about the bow's history; Samuel had been at Vigil's Keep during Nathaniel's grandfather's time, his own father having served as the groundskeeper at the time, and his mother a maid in the kitchen. Groundskeeper Samuel knew many stories of Nathaniel's family, and told him a few—including the story about the bow's creation.

As a child, Nathaniel had assumed that the bow had only been used against wicked men—ones who deserved to die, or who had threatened the Howe who held it. Something so finely crafted, so beautiful, couldn't possibly have been put to foul use. Perhaps until today it never had been. But this bow, once used in valorous battles, had just been used to kill his father's closest friend.

In a way, he wasn't at all surprised that Esmerelle had been the mastermind of the plot against Gideon. Rendon's most trusted confidant would be a prime candidate for such a betrayal, and Nathaniel cursed himself for not even suspecting her.

He was deeply disappointed in her actions, though; he had assumed that her loyalty to Rendon would extend to Rendon's children as well. He had assumed—naïvely—that she would support whatever decision Nathaniel made in regards to his inheritance. Word had obviously gotten out that Nathaniel was a Grey Warden now, and that he was following Gideon's command freely—even if it had originally been against his will. Esmerelle should have accepted that, should have been willing to at least give Gideon the chance to prove himself as the new arl. Instead she had chosen to stand by Rendon, even after his death.

_How could she?_ To support Rendon now was to support everything he had done during the Blight. Nathaniel could understand her possibly supporting the slavery of elves—even if it did disgust him. It was all too common amongst even the best of nobles to believe that elves were less than human. But the other things: kidnapping Queen Anora; imprisoning Bann Vaughan so that Rendon could take over the arling of Denerim; torturing Bann Sighard's son and countless other innocents; murdering the Couslands and every other living soul in Highever. Rendon had done all of those things, and no one had stopped him, not even Esmerelle whom he had trusted implicitly.

And while he may not have actively taken part in Loghain's betrayal of King Cailan, Rendon had to have known that refraining from sending his army to Ostagar had surely aided in the king's downfall. But instead of helping the king he had sworn to protect, he held his men back so that he could betray his best friend and take control of the teyrnir of Highever. Nathaniel had always known of his father's endless craving for power; he had obviously seen his opportunity in the battle at Ostagar and taken it—at great cost to others.

Nathaniel had _worshipped_ his father, revered him, but even he couldn't forgive his father for those things. Nathaniel still didn't know if his father had always been that evil and Nathaniel had just failed to realize his true nature, or if it was something that had developed over the years since Nathaniel's departure to the Free Marches. But there was no mistaking that towards the end, Rendon had been a monster.

How was it possible that Esmerelle actually _supported_ Rendon in all of that? Even if she was oblivious to what had been going on at the time—which Nathaniel doubted, due to his father's love of bragging about his "accomplishments"—she surely had to have found out the truth since then. Perhaps, like Nathaniel had at first, she had turned a blind eye to the whole thing; but if that was the case, why hadn't she sought Nathaniel out? Why hadn't she supported him or tried to convince him to take his father's seat as arl? So many unanswered questions . . . .

Regardless of the reasons why, Esmerelle had been very thorough in carrying out her treachery against the new arl. The woman must have gone to great effort—and spent a large sum of money—to hire the Antivan Crows, a group that rarely ventured outside of their own country to complete a contract. From what he understood, the contract taken out against Gideon and Alistair during the Blight was an almost unheard of occurrence.

She surely must have been plotting this for months; likely as soon as word got to her of King Alistair's proclamation that Vigil's Keep would become the new home of the Grey Wardens. She had planned this even before Gideon arrived at the keep, before she knew whether she would benefit or suffer under his rule.

Of course, anyone who had met Gideon would know that he would rule Amaranthine much differently from Arl Howe, but very few people knew much about him beyond the stories that the bards sang about the Blight. For all most people knew, the young Cousland might have been very amenable to the idea of favoring the nobles over the peasants.

Esmerelle must have realized that herself. Nathaniel supposed it was possible that her plans to attack Gideon had been ready to carry out for a few of months now, but that she'd held off until she was certain which way the wind blew. Maybe her loyalties to Rendon weren't as strong as Nathaniel believed; if Gideon had showed support for Esmerelle during the fealty ceremony instead of Lord Eddelbrek, or ruled in favor of Lady Liza during court, perhaps Esmerelle would have changed her mind and sworn her true loyalty to him, rather than the false oath that she grudgingly uttered.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps! A throbbing headache was forming at the center of Nathaniel's forehead because of all these "maybes" and "what ifs." It didn't matter. Esmerelle was dead; the conspiracy had been thwarted.

And one more ghost would add her voice to the cacophony that sometimes haunted Nathaniel in the dark of night.

The knock on the door that stirred Nathaniel from his thoughts was a welcome relief. He was almost positive who it was, even before the door opened. He had suspected—he had _hoped_ —that Anders would come to check on him.

He didn't bother to get up. "Come in."

The door opened and Anders entered, shutting the door behind him. A bottle of wine was clasped in his hand. He leaned casually against the dresser and looked at Nathaniel searchingly.

"If I ask you if you're all right, will you tell me the truth?"

Nathaniel sat up, perching on the edge of the bed. "Truthfully," he said rubbing at his forehead, "I honestly don't know if I'm all right."

Anders walked over to the bed and sat down next to Nathaniel. He handed the bottle to Nathaniel before sending a light-blue pulse of healing magic towards him, obviously noticing Nathaniel's discomfort. "Do you want to talk about it?"

As Nathaniel uncorked the bottle (a very nice Tevinter vintage, obviously procured from the keep's extensive wine cellar) he thought about Anders' question, turning the idea over in his mind. He realized that he really did want to talk about it. And not just the events of this day—about _all_ of it. What had happened had been enough to stir up the dark memories of his past, and it was time for him to release them.

He had known Anders for months now, and had come to trust him quite a bit. He understood now that Anders wouldn't judge him.

He took a sip of the wine, savoring its rich flavor for a moment before swallowing. "It's difficult being back here sometimes," he started. "At Vigil's Keep, I mean. There are so many memories here; not all of them good."

Anders nodded his head, seeming to understand. If he was wondering what Nathaniel's living in Vigil's Keep had to do with what had just happened downstairs, he kept it to himself. Instead he waited patiently for Nathaniel to continue.

Nathaniel wanted to talk about this, but how could he explain his father in a way that made sense? Rendon hadn't always been a bad father; despite everything else, there had been traces of good in him, once upon a time. It was a fact that most people wouldn't likely believe, and Nathaniel wasn't good enough with words to describe it.

Despite what others might say, there really had been a time when Rendon had at least tried to be a good parent to his two sons and daughter. When Nathaniel was very young, Rendon had actually had time for Nathaniel. He would often take Nathaniel into the city when he had errands there and show his eldest son the sights.

_One day, son_ , Rendon was fond of saying, _this will be yours. Never underestimate that responsibility._

Some nights at bedtime Rendon would give in to his children's entreaties to tell him a story. Often it was about the great Howe line, the ancestors who had fought so valiantly and performed great deeds in service to Ferelden. Other times there were folk tales about other great heroes, and about wrongs being put right.

Ironically, it had been Rendon who had first instilled in Nathaniel a sense of honor and duty, during a time when Nathaniel had been very young and impressionable. It wasn't until he grew older that he saw that his father did not always practice what he preached.

As they grew older, Rendon had less and less time for his children. He hired the very best tutors that his money and influence could obtain, but the outings to Amaranthine and the bedtime stories became fewer and further between, and any personal time he may have once had saved for his children was now used for other things. Thomas and Delilah were more or less left to themselves, and Nathaniel's time with his father was now dedicated to more serious matters.

As his father's heir, Nathaniel was now expected to learn the duties that came with being the Arl of Amaranthine. His lessons were stricter than his brother's and sister's, and he received tutoring in etiquette and foreign languages; he received his own private combat trainer who taught him to fight with all manner of weapons—and who was quickly impressed with Nathaniel's natural talent for archery.

Nathaniel was also expected to attend court with his father, to learn the ways of ruling over the people who would one day be his subjects. It was then that Rendon's contempt for Nathaniel began.

The court usually assembled once a month, unless a grievous crime had occurred in the interim. Nathaniel's required place was just behind the throne, ready to attend to his father if needed. Rendon would listen to the complainants (sometimes with rapt attention and sometimes with unconcealed boredom) and pass judgment. Then he would turn to Nathaniel, expecting his eldest son to agree with his decision.

For years, Nathaniel would just nod his head in agreement, like a puppet. But as he grew older, and started to pay more attention to the cases being brought before the Arl, Nathaniel began to silently question his father's decisions. He would still nod his head in agreement—Rendon was, after all, his father—but Nathaniel was sure Rendon could see his son's hesitation, sense his uncertainty. There were judgments he passed that Nathaniel knew were wrong, people he sentenced to death for crimes that seemed so insignificant to the young boy—such as stealing a loaf of bread so a man could feed his starving family.

Still Nathaniel would nod his head. In all the years, he never spoke out against his father, not once. Rendon was a shrewd man, though, extremely intelligent; he knew that his son no longer believed in him unquestioningly as he once had. Nathaniel, in turn, sensed his father's growing anger with him. Rendon had never been a very patient man, even at his best; once he'd come to realize that Nathaniel was almost nothing like him, he began to let his anger and disdain show.

"My father and I were nothing alike," he finally said to Anders after taking another long drink of wine. "At first it didn't matter much, but as the years went on things began to change. I was not the son he wanted."

Anders looked at him questioningly. "What do you mean?"

Nathaniel sighed. "He was disappointed in me—for many reasons. I didn't share his views on how to rule the people of Amaranthine, for one; he was much more heavy-handed than I ever would have been. And even as a young man I understood how much he craved power and strength, two things I had little interest in.

"Given how disappointed he was in me, I'm surprised he didn't send me off to squire at a younger age. As it was, I think it was quite a relief to him when he sent me to the Free Marches."

Nathaniel knew that his father had been extremely eager to be rid of him, and not just because of what Nathaniel had done to get himself sent there. It was a way to write Nathaniel off for a while, maybe even for good. If something were to happen to Nathaniel, it was Thomas who would inherit the arldom—and even at a young age it was obvious he was more like their father than Nathaniel would ever be.

"You told Gideon you went to the Marches eight years ago." Anders took the bottle from Nathaniel and took a drink before handing it back. "Seems awfully old for someone to become a squire."

Nathaniel nodded. "It was. I think he believed it would be better to keep me close, to set an example for me so that I might . . . become more like him. Sending me abroad was a punishment, though, not a reward."

Anders looked at him questioningly and Nathaniel took a deep breath. This was the part that he'd held off talking about for so long. "He found out that I fancied men. He found out in the worst possible way."

Nathaniel stole a quick glance at Anders before looking away. "I never had any interest in girls. Even when I came of age, I never felt any sort of attraction for them. When other boys my age were carrying on about the beauty of a woman's bosom, or boasting about their sexual conquests, all I could do was sit there and feign interest. I cannot recall even one girl who ever caught my attention in the way that I knew they were supposed to."

They had been passing the wine back and forth while Nathaniel talked, drinking it as if it were some watered-down mead, rather than an expensive vintage bottled in Minrathous during the Blessed Age. It was starting to make Nathaniel's head feel fuzzy, but it also seemed to loosen his tongue. The wine made it much easier for him to talk about this.

"I was never stirred by a woman's beauty, but I found much to appreciate in some of the young men I encountered. It was the _men_ at court who caught my eye, not the women with whom my mother tried to arrange me.

"Despite what you said about there not being anything in the Chant of Light, it was made very clear to me from a young age that it is an offense to the Maker for a man to lay with another man. An unforgiveable crime. My father had very strong views on this, and he ingrained those views into his children. When I began to realize that I was attracted to men . . . I knew the thoughts I was having were wrong, but I couldn't stop them."

"So you just . . . pretended you didn't feel like that?" Anders asked.

Nathaniel nodded. "Exactly. It was easy enough to do, for the most part. There were certainly men around me whom I found attractive, but most of them were servants or commoners living in Amaranthine. Two groups of people whom a nobleman should never 'lower' themselves to be intimate with, even if they were of the opposite gender."

Nathaniel took another drink of the wine. "There weren't really any nobles who incited desire in me. Until Fergus."

"Fergus . . ." It took Anders a moment to place the name. "You mean Fergus _Cousland?_ Gideon's brother?"

Nathaniel smiled wryly. "The very same. We had been friends ever since we were young children. As we got older we realized we were attracted to each other. We became lovers one summer." _One perfect summer._ He smiled a little as fond memories came back to him.

"I cared for him deeply. I like to think he felt the same, though I never dared to ask. There was never any chance for us, you see; we were both our fathers' heirs. We were expected to marry and produce children of our own.

"We spent as much time together as we could, making the most of the little time we had together. We were both getting old enough to start seeking wives, though we had a few years yet before our parents would begin pressuring us in earnest. Our families got together every summer, so Fergus and I assumed we would have another summer or two to be together. But every moment was still important to me."

Anders reached out and squeezed Nathaniel's hand gently. "Did you love him?"

A long minute passed before Nathaniel answered. "I thought I did, at the time; but I think what I felt for him was . . . something else." He shook his head. "I don't know how to describe it, really. He was the first person to make me feel as if . . . as if there was nothing wrong with me. That there was nothing wrong with my being attracted to men. I could be myself with him, in a way that I couldn't with anyone else."

"Your father found out, didn't he?" Anders guessed.

"Not exactly," Nathaniel said. "We were very discreet. Father suspected, even punished me half-heartedly once or twice just in case, but he never knew for certain."

"So what happened, then? Something must have."

Nathaniel took a deep breath. "Fergus took a wife."

Anders made a soft noise of surprise. "He got married? Did you know about it?"

"Not until after it happened. Fergus took a year-long tour of Thedas, and when he returned, he brought his new bride, Oriana. He had met her in Antiva."

"I can't believe he didn't tell you about it beforehand," Anders said. "That's a hell of a thing to spring on someone."

Nathaniel shrugged. "I don't think he knew how to tell me. As I said, we both always knew that things wouldn't last between us. The idea of the future Teyrn of Highever and the Arl of Amaranthine being in an intimate relationship was unthinkable. We both knew our responsibilities came before our own desires, and we were prepared to accept that. We wanted to live in the moment, to be together as long as we could before the inevitable happened."

"And the inevitable happened sooner than you wanted it to," Anders asked, "didn't you."

Nathaniel nodded. "Very much. I thought he did, as well. I had this ridiculous fantasy that somehow we could find a way to be together, even though I knew it was impossible."

"Did you like her? Fergus' wife?"

Nathaniel was surprised by the question. "I did, actually. I didn't want to, I wanted to hate her; but I couldn't. I could see how happy Fergus was with her. Anyone could see how much they adored each other.

"I was so hurt, though. Even though I knew it would happen to one of us eventually, I felt betrayed that Fergus had found someone else; that my foolish dream of us finding some way to be together was destroyed. I was hurt and angry, and that made me reckless.

"The man who my father finally caught me with was not Fergus—he was a soldier in my father's army. He was furious when he found us together." Unconsciously, Nathaniel's free hand balled into a fist and he squeezed his eyes shut. "He beat me to within an inch of my life. I often wonder if he might not have stopped in time had Delilah not come running in and begged him to stop."

Anders let go of Nathaniel's hand and snaked an arm around Nathaniel's shoulders. "Maker, Nathaniel. I'm so sorry."

Nathaniel wanted to pull away, to tell Anders that he wasn't worthy of pity, but he didn't. "My father sent me to the Free Marches as punishment; it was obvious he wanted me well away from him. That argument was the last time I ever saw or spoke to my father."

Anders snorted. "That doesn't sound like an argument to me. That sounds like a bastard beating up his defenseless son for something that wasn't his fault."

"It _was_ my fau—"

" _No,"_ Anders said emphatically. "It wasn't. You did nothing wrong, Nathaniel. Nothing."

Nathaniel looked up at Anders and saw the look of anger on his face. He wanted to believe Anders, but he couldn't. He'd spent far too many years convincing himself that his father had done the right thing. Of all the horrible things that Rendon had shouted at Nathaniel during his punishment—deviant, evil, shameful, disgusting—the one that had stuck with Nathaniel through the years had been the last words Rendon had ever said to him: _You're no son of mine._

"I know you mean well, Anders, and I appreciate it. But I deserved what happened to me. He was right."

Anders shook his head. "I refuse to believe that. I know what it's like to be punished for something you can't control, to be punished just for who you are. No one deserves that."

"How can you possibly know?" Nathaniel asked, frustrated. "You said yourself that mages are free to be intimate with people of the same sex. How can you know what it's like?"

Anders frowned. "You just answered your own question: I'm _a mage._ I can't count the number of times I've been told how evil and wrong I am, just because I can cast magic. I've been yelled at, lectured, and yes, beaten. Because of something I have no control over." He leaned against Nathaniel. "I told you we have more in common than you think."

Nathaniel took a shaky breath, waiting until he was certain that shakiness wouldn't reflect in his voice. "I want to believe that I did nothing wrong, I really do. I just can't, though—I don't know how."

Anders smiled softly. "Then I'll teach you."

Nathaniel looked at him skeptically. "How will you do that?"

In answer, Anders leaned in and kissed him. It started out soft and gently, but Anders slowly deepened it. His tongue flicked at Nathaniel's lips, and Nathaniel found himself parting them to let Anders in.

Anders finally drew away, a much larger smile curving his kiss-reddened lips. "Now," he said softly, "how can _that_ possibly be wrong?"

Nathaniel started to answer, but Anders placed a finger over his lips, stopping him. "You enjoyed it; I enjoyed it. That's all that matters." Anders could likely see the look of doubt in Nathaniel's eyes. "The only person who ever really thought there was something wrong with you for feeling like this is dead now." He either didn't notice or chose to ignore the little wince that Nathaniel gave at that statement. "You have a chance to be yourself now—don't you want to take it?"

They were almost the exact same words that Delilah had said to him during their meeting in Amaranthine. He'd told Delilah that he would take that chance, but he hadn't, not really. He had definitely changed for the better after finding out the truth about his father, there was no doubt about that. But he had yet to take the next step—to realize that his father had been wrong about him and to accept himself for who he really was.

Nathaniel had kept his past to himself for so long, but Anders had been right in encouraging Nathaniel to talk about it—it really did help. It would take a long time for him to heal completely, but for the first time in years he actually felt as if it really _was_ possible to heal.

Bolstered by this, he leaned forward and stole a lingering kiss from Anders. It was the first kiss that _he_ had actually initiated, and it was perfect. Soon his arms came up to wrap around Anders' waist, pulling him in close as he kissed him deeper.

Anders was happy enough to let Nathaniel take control, making a small murmur of pleasure as he leaned against Nathaniel's chest. Almost imperceptibly, and without breaking the kiss, Nathaniel leaned forward, slowly pressing Anders down against the bed. It took just a bit of shifting for them to both wind up lying on the bed, Nathaniel half on top of Anders and kissing him deeply.

Whether it was a result of too much wine, or finally getting everything off of his chest, Nathaniel felt as if he was floating. There were no wisps of darkness this time, no whisper of voices as his tongue slid across Anders'. Small murmurs of pleasure from Anders emboldened Nathaniel and he ran his hand down Anders' clothed leg until he found the hem of his robes. Slowly he dragged them up Anders' legs until he was able to slip his hand underneath and touch Anders' bare thigh.

Just that simple touch of bare skin made Nathaniel shiver. It certainly wasn't anything illicit, or even very erotic, but to Nathaniel it felt like coming home. He moved his hand higher and higher, until his fingertips brushed against the hem of Anders' smallclothes. Before he could get any further, a restraining hand clamped lightly around Nathaniel's wrist.

Breaking the kiss, he looked down into Anders' lust-dilated eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked softly.

Anders shook his head, smiling. "We can't do this, not yet."

There was a lurch in Nathaniel's stomach. Anders couldn't possibly be rejecting Nathaniel _now_ , could he? "What do you mean?" He tried to keep his voice calm, but Anders obviously could sense his trepidation.

"I want you," Anders said reassuringly, still smiling softly. "I really, really— _really_ —do. But this isn't the right time." Nathaniel relaxed a little, but he still didn't understand. Anders let go of Nathaniel's wrist and ran his hand over Nathaniel's arm. "After everything that happened earlier, and everything you've just told me—you've been through a lot today, emotionally." He reached up to cup Nathaniel's cheek. "I don't want to make another mistake with you," he said softly. "I want this to happen when you're ready for it. When you're not so upset, and completely sober—" his smile widened to show he was teasing at that last part, " _that's_ when I want this to happen."

Nathaniel nodded his head. Anders was right, of course. As much as Nathaniel felt that he wanted it, this wasn't the right time. He didn't want to make any more mistakes with Anders either.

He looked at Anders hesitantly. "Maybe—maybe you could . . ." Maker, why did he always have such a hard time asking for things?

Anders seemed to intuit what it was that Nathaniel wanted. He reached down and grabbed the covers, pulling them up over the two men. They were both still fully clothed, but neither of them seemed to mind as they snuggled up together.

It felt like the most natural thing in the world for Nathaniel to wrap his arms loosely around Anders, and for Anders to rest his head on Nathaniel's breast. This, at least, Nathaniel knew with certainty wasn't wrong. This was the most right, the most perfectly comfortable thing in the world. To be curled up under the thick covers with Anders in his arms.

"With a companion as soft as you, I doubt I'll have any nightmares tonight," Nathaniel joked.

"You and I both know that nightmares don't only happen when we're asleep," Anders said gently.

Nathaniel sighed, though it was a sound of contentment rather than defeat. "I'll protect you from your nightmares if you protect me from mine."

Glancing down at the mage, Nathaniel could see the curve of Anders' lips as he smiled. "Deal."


	23. Chapter 23

Nathaniel woke slowly as the early morning light filtered in through a gap in the window curtains. Eyes closed, he hugged the soft pillow in his arms, snuggling against it. It wasn't until the "pillow" murmured a few unintelligible words in its sleep that Nathaniel remembered it was actually Anders he was holding in his arms.

Still half-asleep, he slowly opened his eyes to see a mass of blond hair, slightly tangled from sleep. Anders' head was still resting on Nathaniel's chest and the look of peace on the mage's face was enough to take Nathaniel's breath away. Anders looked so innocent in sleep; the small creases that sometimes lined his face when he frowned were smooth now, and he looked utterly content.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, Nathaniel reached up and touched Anders' hair lightly, tugging a stray lock away from his cheek.

Before Nathaniel had a chance to take his hand away, Anders nuzzled his cheek against it. Nathaniel ran his thumb over Anders' cheekbone, tracing it lightly. Unable to resist, he leaned forward and kissed Anders' brow.

A slight rustle of the sheets indicated that the kiss had not gone unnoticed. As he drew back, he saw Anders blinking up at him, a sleepy look on his face.

Anders rubbed blearily at his eyes. "What time of the day do you call this, then?"

Nathaniel lips twitched into a wry smile. "Dawn."

"Why in the Maker's name are we waking up at dawn when there's no darkspawn to kill?" Anders grumped.

"I always get up at this time of day," Nathaniel answered.

Anders frowned a little before closing his eyes and burrowing against Nathaniel. "Well, wake me up when it's a more _decent_ hour—like noon."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "Some of us have better things to do than laze about in bed."

"Sometimes being lazy is good," Anders said, looking back up at Nathaniel. He reached up and caressed Nathaniel's cheek, mimicking Nathaniel's own gesture. "Did you sleep all right?" he asked, apparently resigned to being awake.

Nathaniel nodded. "Better than I would have thought." He had had no nightmares; not about darkspawn . . . nor about his father. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept so soundly and easily. "What about you?" he asked.

Anders wrapped his arm around Nathaniel's waist and snuggled against him again. "Perfectly. I was having the most lovely dream."

Nathaniel smiled. "Really? What about?"

Anders smiled enigmatically. "Doesn't matter . . ."

Nathaniel chuckled softly. "Well, so long as it was a good dream . . ."

Anders' smile softened as he nuzzled against Nathaniel's neck. "I love the way you smell," he murmured. "Like a forest. With leather in it."

Nathaniel was reminded of the previous day and grimaced. "Given our activities recently, I likely smell more like a sweaty pig than a forest. I should probably take a bath."

"Mind if I join you?" Anders asked, a playful smile curving his lips as he looked up at Nathaniel.

Nathaniel hesitated for a moment. Communal bathing was quite common amongst the Wardens; when you were traveling for days on end and finally encountered a body of water, the last thing you were worried about was modesty. Getting the grime and dust and darkspawn blood off was far more important, and if that meant sharing a river with a few other men and a belching dwarf, it was a small price to pay. Even at Vigil's Keep, bathing with others was not unheard of. The baths were quite large, big enough to fit half a dozen men, and it was much easier to use the same one at the same time than wait around until it became unoccupied.

This was different, though. Nathaniel knew that this would not just be two fellow Wardens sharing a bathing tub. This would be Nathaniel and Anders bathing together. _Together._ Perhaps even bathing _each other_. The thought made Nathaniel smile. "I'd like that very much," he finally said.

Anders' smile widened as he sat up and climbed over Nathaniel to reach the edge of the bed. "Let's go—the sooner I get to see you naked, the better." He looked back and apparently noticed Nathaniel's hesitation. The look that Anders gave him was soft and perhaps a little rueful.

"We don't have to go down to the baths together. I'll head down first and get the water ready, and you can meet me there in a few minutes."

Nathaniel gave him a grateful smile. He wasn't ashamed of being seen in the presence of Anders, but he wasn't quite ready to be seen going down to the baths together. Even if it had been for perfectly innocent reasons, there could still be some teasing and innuendo from Oghren or Sigrun. Something that he was not at all ready to face. Telling his story to Anders _had_ actually helped soothe his wounds, much to his surprise, but he knew life was not as easy as that. The guilt and shame he had carried with him would not be banished so easily.

Anders leaned over to give him one last kiss before standing up and heading for the door. He turned back at the last moment and winked at Nathaniel before slipping out of the room.

Nathaniel chuckled as he climbed out of bed. How was it that he could go from being absolutely miserable last night to feeling so happy this morning? The weight hadn't been lifted from him completely, but it felt lighter—and it was because of Anders, he knew. Anders, the one who refused to give up on him, and who would not let him wallow in misery. Anders had known how badly Nathaniel needed to talk about what had happened to him all those years ago, and had refused to let Nathaniel continue to push him away.

Nathaniel was incredibly grateful that Anders had listened to Nathaniel without comment, and without judgment. He had listened, and been empathetic, and that meant the world to Nathaniel. Even knowing that Anders was clearly attracted to men as well as women there was a part of him deep down that had feared Anders would be repulsed by what had happened. Repulsion was the reaction he was used to, after all.

Instead, Anders had been angry. Not at Nathaniel, but at Rendon. Nathaniel actually wished he could call forth that much anger for his father, but he could not. Rendon Howe had still been his father, and while it might have been easier to hate him, instead he carried around the overwhelming feelings of guilt and failure. Feelings that were starting to abate just the smallest bit due to Anders.

He took a few moments to make his bed, straightening the pillows, pulling the covers up, smoothing out the lumps. When he finished, he sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the item he had carelessly tossed there the night before: the necklace he had taken from Bann Esmerelle's body.

It was a gold locket, with a delicate rose etched on the lid. He slid his blunt thumbnail between the two pieces of the locket and carefully levered it open. Inside was a tiny lock of hair. He could tell from the light now shining fully into the room that the hair was silvery-gray. He wondered idly if it was his father's. Possibly. The last time he had seen this necklace was years ago, around his mother's slender neck. By rights it should have gone to Delilah after their mother's death; it would seem that his father deemed it more appropriate to pass it on to one of his lackeys instead.

Nathaniel snapped the locket shut and ran his calloused thumb over the etched ridges of the rose. He had never been particularly close to his mother, but this was a piece of her. A piece of his family. Things such as this—and the vase that Anders had found for him—were the reason why Nathaniel had been reluctant to leave the Keep after he had decided not to kill Gideon.

Nathaniel Howe was many things, but he was not a murderer. When it came time to actually commit murder against Gideon, he had known he couldn't do it. Gideon had been his friend once, and he was Fergus' younger brother. Nathaniel's hatred and rage for his father's murderer could not overcome those two blinding facts.

He had vowed not to go away empty-handed, though. If he could only collect his family's belongings, their most cherished items, perhaps that would help ease the pain that had settled into his heart upon hearing of his father's death. His family _had_ been honorable once; they had been great heroes who had repeatedly aided Ferelden during times of war. His own father had been a hero, years ago. Nathaniel might not have been able to kill Gideon, but he was damned if he would let the man have his family's prized possessions.

He hadn't any real idea of things he had wanted to take with him that day, though he had certainly wanted to find his grandfather's bow. He had simply stolen into the Keep and looked around, letting the memories of his past wash over him. When the Wardens found him sneaking through the Keep in the middle of the night, they did not take very kindly to it. Nathaniel fought, and was quite proud that it took four of the Orlesian bastards to take him down. He had expected to die for his crimes, and had been shocked—and a little angry—when Gideon refused to send him to the gallows.

He had deeply resented Gideon for forcing Nathaniel to go through the Joining, even before he had known all of the side effects that such a ritual would incur. Many years ago, one of Nathaniel's relatives had left the family to join the Grey Wardens. He'd never been heard from again. Rendon loved to pull that story out during his rants on loyalty and obedience. Padric Howe had abandoned his family by joining the Grey Wardens, had abandoned his _duties_. A terribly dishonorable thing for a Howe to do.

Thinking about it now, Nathaniel suspected that Padric had likely died during his Joining, never becoming a full Warden. A terrible loss. He wondered how many men and women had died from the Joining over the years, how many sacrifices had been made. He knew that, as much as he disliked the idea, it was ultimately worth it. No matter how many lives had been lost, each and every Joining was important. Grey Wardens truly were the only ones who could stop the Blight. Many people believed that was just a fairy tale, an idea put out by the Wardens themselves to make them seem more necessary than they really were. The fifth Blight had changed all of that.

Being a Warden was something Nathaniel could be proud of. It gave him purpose, and a chance to prove himself. His father may not have known the meaning of the word _nobility_ but Nathaniel did. He knew that he had no choice about being a Grey Warden, but he was still proud to be one. He had a chance to help people here, to right wrongs. He knew, without a doubt, that this was where he belonged. Vigil's Keep had been a home to him as a child, and it was home to him once more as an adult.

With care, he placed the necklace into a drawer before heading downstairs. He ran into Sigrun on his way down to the baths in the lowest level of the Keep, and she bade him a cheerful good morning in passing; he ran into no one else along the way and was able to slip into the baths apparently unnoticed.

Anders was there, waiting for him. Not, as Nathaniel had assumed, already undressed and lying in the hot bath he had drawn, but sitting on a bench, still fully clothed. As Nathaniel closed and locked the door behind him, Anders stood and walked over to him.

"Took you long enough," Anders teased.

Nathaniel's lips quirked into a smile. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

Anders shrugged, smiling. "I'll forgive you. This time." He reached out towards Nathaniel's shirt. Nathaniel stood still as Anders began undoing the buttons, watching the brow above those warm chocolate eyes furrow in concentration as he worried at the last one.

Finally Anders got the button free and dragged Nathaniel's shirt off, tossing it onto the floor. He reached for the laces on Nathaniel's breeches, but Nathaniel caught his wrist gently.

"I'll do it." It felt strange, pulling off his breeches and smallclothes as Anders stood there and watched. He straightened back up, feeling self-conscious as Anders' eyes roamed over Nathaniel's nude body.

"You really are gorgeous," Anders murmured, catching Nathaniel off guard. He wasn't used to other people complimenting him on his appearance. Not that he really minded the lack of compliments; the clothes he wore were meant for comfort and function, rather than to be fashionable or impress others. His hair was his only vanity, and while he gave it special care and attention, it was still styled in a manner that was practical rather than ostentatious.

Nathaniel had never considered himself unattractive, but he didn't consider himself to be remarkably handsome either. In truth, he didn't consider his looks much at all. It was a surprise to hear Anders express such appreciation for his appearance, and flattering as well.

He wanted to be able to return the favor. "Are you planning on bathing fully clothed?"

Anders laughed. "Not at all, but I figured I'd wait until you got here, give you a little show." The boots came off first, Anders placing his hand on Nathaniel's shoulder momentarily to keep his balance as he tugged them off. Then he unfastened the thick belt around his waist and cast it aside to fall on top of Nathaniel's discarded clothes. Unbound by the belt, his robes hung loose; he grasped the hem and slowly tugged them up over his head. Unsurprisingly, he was not wearing any smallclothes.

"You are the one who is gorgeous," Nathaniel breathed, taking in the sight of Anders. Those precious seconds when Nathaniel had accidentally seen Anders naked in Amaranthine hadn't been long enough to give a good view of what Anders' body looked like unclothed, and now Nathaniel's eyes wandered hungrily over every inch, taking in the full beauty of him.

Anders' skin was slightly tanned, the color of golden honey. A smattering of baby-fine hair dusted his arms and chest, leading down to a mass of golden curls covering his groin. Anders was lean, but muscular—more muscular than Nathaniel would have expected a mage to be, in fact. He was tall and thin, and while that might cause another man to look scrawny, it suited Anders perfectly. He was, in short, the most handsome man Nathaniel had ever seen.

Nathaniel reached out and ran his fingers over Anders' chest, marveling at the smoothness of his skin. Anders caught up Nathaniel's hand and smiled. "You can touch me all you like, after we get into the bath." Still holding Nathaniel's hand, Anders turned and stepped down into the large tub, drawing Nathaniel with him.

Nathaniel settled into the blissfully hot water with a sigh of pleasure. Between the Wending Wood and the silverite mine, there had been little time for cleaning up. The best he had been able to manage was a cloth wetted with water to wipe the grime and darkspawn blood from his face and arms occasionally. A hot bath felt like the Golden City itself. He rested his back against the edge of the tub, pleased when Anders settled next to him rather than across from him as he had expected. He closed his eyes, head tilting back as he relished the feeling of being submerged in the hot water.

He felt Anders press against his shoulder and he opened his eyes to see Anders reaching across him to grab the soap sitting on the edge of the bath. He watched as Anders lathered up his hands before reaching out and running them over Nathaniel's chest. Nathaniel's breath hitched as Anders gently caressed his skin, turning the simple act of bathing into something much more sensual.

Anders smiled at Nathaniel. "You have no idea how many times I've fantasized about doing this."

Nathaniel's brow arched. "Oh, really?"

Anders nodded. He shifted so that he was straddling Nathaniel's lap, keeping plenty of space between their groins. Anders used his hands to scrub at Nathaniel's shoulders and arms before moving back to his chest. "Lathering you up with soap . . . getting to touch every inch of you . . . and then, after we're done, watching all that water slide over your gorgeous muscles as you climb up out of the tub. I'm _definitely_ looking forward to that part."

Nathaniel smirked. "I don't see you rushing through this to get to that much anticipated moment."

"I can be very patient when I want to be," Anders said lightly. "And it isn't as if I'm not enjoying _this_ part, too." His hands slowly trailed lower and he ran one slender finger around the rim of Nathaniel's navel. Nathaniel's whole body shivered and he could feel himself stirring a little. It had been a long time since anyone had done this with him—slowly and lazily exploring his body, with no real goal but to give pleasure.

Nathaniel reached up and tugged at the leather strap that bound Anders' hair in a ponytail, admiring the silky blond tresses as they fell loose over Anders' shoulders. He ran his fingers through that soft mane and pulled Anders close for a slow exploratory kiss. Anders responded lazily but eagerly, his tongue darting against Nathaniel's lips. Emboldened, Nathaniel kissed him deeper, his tongue thrusting hungrily into Anders' mouth. When he felt the hand on his half-hard cock, he did not flinch away; instead, he wrapped his arms around Anders' waist and pulled him closer.

He was stiffening in Anders' hand, and when Anders rubbed his thumb over the tip of Nathaniel's cock, Nathaniel actually let out a small groan of pleasure. This seemed to spur Anders on, and he tightened his grip on Nathaniel's length, giving it one long, slow stroke. One of Nathaniel's hands wandered down to Anders' backside and gripped it firmly. Anders' breath hitched and he flexed his muscles beneath Nathaniel's hand, compelling Nathaniel to grip harder.

They were pressed close together now, chest to chest, bare flesh radiating heat from the bath and from their own desire. Not letting himself think about it too much, letting his instincts guide him rather than his mind, he released his grip on Anders' arse and reached between them, brushing his fingers lightly over Anders' length.

The reaction was immediate. Anders moaned lowly with pleasure and bit hard at Nathaniel's lip. Anders' hand quickened its pace and he was now stroking Nathaniel faster and more firmly. Nathaniel closed his fingers around Anders' length and returned the favor, though he was still a bit tentative—it had been so long since he had touched another man's body like this. It came to him easily enough, though, given the fact that he had done this to himself plenty of times. It was different, certainly—what _he_ liked might not necessarily be what _Anders_ liked. He varied his style, trying to see what pulled the most delicious sounds from Anders, relishing every hitch of breath, each quiet moan.

Soon their noises of pleasure were mixing together into a rough medley of physical pleasure. They had to break their frantic kisses off frequently to gasp for air, but every time their lips met again easily. It took a bit of trial and error on Nathaniel's part, but soon their hands were moving together in perfect harmony. Nathaniel's arm was back around Anders' waist and he was holding the man as close to him as was physically possible. Each of them was rocking his hips into the other's hand, desperate for more.

It was Anders who broke first: he tossed his head back and cried out Nathaniel's name, eyes squeezed tight with pleasure. Nathaniel continued stroking him through his orgasm until Anders was completely spent. Anders slumped against him, fighting to get his breath back. He only allowed himself a few moments to bask in the bliss of his release before he began stroking Nathaniel again, this time faster and more urgently.

Nathaniel was helpless against Anders' talented hand and soon he was coming, face buried against Anders' neck as he groaned with pleasure. He could feel his cock pulsing with his own release, Anders' hand firmly around it. Nathaniel allowed himself a rare moment free of control as he rode the waves of his orgasm, basking in the sensation as white lights burst behind his closed eyes. He could not remember ever coming this hard before in his life.

The two men lay there together, relaxed against each other and trying to catch their breath. Anders' head was resting on Nathaniel's shoulder and he nuzzled at Nathaniel's neck, kissing him lightly.

"Either you're more experienced than you let on, or you have a natural talent for giving pleasure," Anders murmured.

Nathaniel chuckled. "I am not the sort of person to kiss and tell," he said, somewhat evasively. He ran his hand gently up and down Anders' back, relishing the nearness and warmth of him.

Anders tilted his head up to look at Nathaniel questioningly. "That wasn't a very straight-forward answer."

"I didn't realize there was a question."

Anders studied Nathaniel for a few moments before shaking his head. "Never mind; it's probably not any of my business. I've pried more than enough the last couple of days."

"What do you want to know, Anders?" Nathaniel asked softly. "I'll try to answer what I can. It's—it's nice having someone I can confide in." He smiled down at Anders a little hesitantly.

Anders returned the smile. "I suppose I was just wondering how much sex you've actually had."

Nathaniel had been expecting the question, but it still made him a little uncomfortable talking about something so intimate. "I've only ever been with two men: Fergus and Tarbin, the soldier I . . . consoled myself with after finding out about Fergus."

"Have you been with any women?" Anders asked curiously.

"One," Nathaniel said. "While I was in the Free Marches. To make sure that I could. It . . . wasn't as bad as I'd feared it would be, but it wasn't as enjoyable as I'd hoped."

Anders' arms wrapped around Nathaniel's torso and hugged him tight. "You were trying to make yourself be something you weren't."

Nathaniel shrugged. "I was trying to do my duty, I suppose. I was still my father's heir, no matter how much I'd angered him. I was determined to get back into his good graces, and to prove to him that I was a son he could be proud of. So I tried to change who I was. I thought perhaps I could grow to prefer the company of women."

"It didn't work like that, though—did it?" Anders asked.

"No," Nathaniel admitted. "She was the daughter of a prominent nobleman in Ostwick; she had been pursuing me for quite some time, and one night, after a party where we'd had a bit too much to drink, she made an outright advance."

He had planned on turning her down gently, as he had done with other women on previous occasions, but the wine had been flowing freely that night, and she was an attractive woman—even Nathaniel could see that, though he felt no real attraction to her himself. Her boldness was admirable, and her confidence made it easier for Nathaniel to accept her advances.

"Rather than turn her away, I welcomed her, determined to prove to myself and my father that I could be normal. It was awkward, though; terribly, terribly awkward."

"I bet it was," Anders said. "It's not exactly something you can force yourself to like."

"No, it's not," Nathaniel agreed. "It was foolish of me to think otherwise. I thought that it was perhaps something inherent in being a man: that I would find a woman's touch pleasurable. I'd never tried it before, you see. So I didn't actually know for sure."

"You said you never found women attractive, though," Anders pointed out. "That should have been a dead giveaway right there."

Nathaniel couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Very true. I wasn't even sure that I could . . . _perform_ , if you understand me."

He could feel Anders' stubbled cheek brushing against Nathaniel's shoulder as he nodded his head. "I get what you mean."

"I was successful in that sense, at least, and it was easier than I'd feared it would be. It helped that she was very pretty, and she smiled quite nice. She had a beautiful smile . . ." He trailed off, not feeling right going into details with Anders curled in his arms. "We managed well enough. It wasn't satisfying to me, though. She seemed to enjoy herself, for which I was extremely grateful. I would have felt horrible if I hadn't been able to give her pleasure. I don't know if she realized it felt wrong to me or not; as I said, we'd both had a lot to drink, so it's possible she didn't notice. I hope she didn't."

"And that's the only time you've ever been with a woman?" Anders asked.

Nathaniel shook his head. "No. I bedded her again a few weeks later. I wanted to make sure that one time wasn't a fluke, and that I could perform even when I wasn't drunk. It was less awkward, but no more pleasurable. That was when I finally realized that no matter how hard I tried, I would never truly be interested in women."

"So you knew you didn't fancy women, and you refused to let yourself be with men . . . did you just plan on being abstinent for the rest of your life?" Anders asked. "Did you really think you could manage something like that?"

Nathaniel frowned a little. "Sex isn't everything, Anders." He sighed. "Like I said, I knew I'd have to take a wife eventually; and at least I knew for certain that I'd be able to bed her, and father a child. After that, well, perhaps I could have persuaded her to take a lover. The type of woman who would want to marry me would do so for the power that comes with being an arlessa; being attracted to the man she was marrying would likely be inconsequential to her. It's quite common for nobles to take lovers—just look at my father and Bann Esmerelle. I'm quite sure their affair began long before my mother passed away. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if my mother had had a lover of her own—my parents despised each other."

"I'm not saying sex is everything," Anders argued gently, "but intimacy _is_ important. Being close with someone, sharing your body with them—it's such an amazing feeling." He laughed mischievously. "This bath should be proof enough of that."

Nathaniel's lips curved into a smile. "Being with you does feel good. A big part of that, though, is the fact that I care about you. I think that makes all the difference. Regardless of whether I fancied women or men, I don't think I would ever be the type to have casual affairs."

Anders turned his head and placed a gentle kiss on Nathaniel's shoulder. "I know you're not, and I don't mind. You and I are different when it comes to our ideas of sex and intimacy, but I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing. We balance each other out."

Nathaniel smiled wryly. "You'll teach me how to enjoy sex and I'll teach you how to be in a relationship, is that it?" He felt Anders stiffen in his arms and realized that he had said the wrong thing. "I'm sorry," he said hastily, "I didn't mean to insinuate—"

"Sounds like a fair trade to me," he said softly, surprising Nathaniel. He picked his head up and looked at Nathaniel. "I can't say I'm the best catch out there, and I have _no idea_ how to be in _any_ sort of relationship that lasts longer than five minutes. But . . . I think maybe for you I could try."

"To be with me?" Nathaniel asked, wanting to make sure he was understanding. "You want to be in a relationship with me?"

Anders took a deep breath before nodding. "I make no guarantees that I'll be any good at it, but yes—I want to be with you." His eyes flicked away. "I'm nervous as hell about it, though. I don't want to hurt you."

Nathaniel ran his hands reassuringly along Anders' back. "Maybe you will. Or maybe _I'll_ hurt _you_ ; I think that's a risk everyone takes when they get into a relationship. You don't have to make any promises to me if you don't want to. I won't demand any sort of commitment from you. We can just take each day as it comes." It pained him a little to say that. Now that he was starting to accept himself a little, and to realize that he no longer wanted to push Anders away, it was difficult for him to not ask for a commitment. He couldn't do that, though. He didn't want to scare Anders off, and he knew that if he pushed for more than the mage was willing to give, Anders would slip out of his hold.

Anders smiled at him gratefully, confirming his suspicions. "I can do that." He settled back against Nathaniel, his body relaxed once more. "So long as I get to spend those days with such a sexy, handsome man like you, I don't mind taking them one at a time at all."

Nathaniel snorted at that. "I don't know if I would go so far as to say such things about me."

"You might not," Anders said, "but I will. You're the most attractive person I've ever been with, believe me."

Nathaniel looked at him a bit skeptically. "I'm more attractive than _anyone_ you've been with?"

Anders laughed. "Don't look so pessimistic. You're _very_ attractive, Nathaniel; don't ever doubt that." He leaned in and kissed Nathaniel softly. "I happen to have a _huge_ weakness for masculine men, which you most certainly are. You're masculine without being _macho._ You're rugged, and handsome; you're strong and brave, and noble. . ." He picked his head up and smiled at Nathaniel. "I could go on like this for days, if you'd like."

Nathaniel shook his head, smiling a little. "You don't have to do that." He wasn't sure he entirely believed Anders, but he wasn't going to argue.

He leaned in and kissed Anders, nipping lightly at his bottom lip. "We should probably clean up. Again."

"Mmm, I suppose so," Anders said, clearly reluctant. He slid off of Nathaniel's lap and grabbed the soap. "I'll scrub your back if you scrub mine?" He winked at Nathaniel, an impish smile on his face.

Nathaniel chuckled as he took the soap from Anders' hand. "I suppose I can do that."


	24. Chapter 24

Nathaniel walked through the halls of the keep, feeling better than he had in ages. Before parting in the baths earlier, he and Anders had made a promise to meet up later. Anders would come to Nathaniel's room after nightfall, and though they didn't talk about it specifically, Nathaniel knew that they would do more than sleeping tonight.

It had taken some time for them to get out of the bathing chambers, even after they'd finished with their bath. Nathaniel and Anders had had difficulty keeping their hands off one another as they dressed, caressing bare skin and stealing kisses every now and again as they worked to get their clothes on.

Eventually, every bit of clothing had been tugged on and every button fastened, and it was time to leave the safety and privacy of the bathroom, but not before they embraced for one last long, lingering kiss.

Nathaniel assumed that Gideon would have no need of his Wardens today, given that Velanna was likely still recovering from her Joining (and Gideon was sure to be keeping checking in on Varel from time to time). Nathaniel wondered how Velanna would react when Gideon explained to her the full implications of what it meant to become a Grey Warden. He suspected that she would take it fairly well; Velanna was strong, she had proved that in the Wending Wood. She was not being taken from some soft life, nor was she being torn away from family or friends. She had lost everything, just as Nathaniel had. Velanna would make a fine addition to the team, though he did hope that she and Anders would learn to get along better.

With no assigned duties to perform, Nathaniel more or less had the day to himself. Ignoring Nathaniel's slight frown of disapproval, Anders had decided to steal some breakfast from the kitchen before heading back to bed for a few more hours sleep. Nathaniel was not fond of sleeping in late, as it seemed to be a waste of the day. Especially because it meant he wouldn't get to share breakfast in the dining hall with Anders. He had to admit his attitude towards Anders had changed quite a bit over the last few months, and he wasn't nearly as irritated by Anders choosing to be lazy today as he would have once been. Some of the things about Anders that used to anger Nathaniel had become far more tolerable—some of them even pulling a fond smile from him when no one else was looking.

He was pleased to find Sigrun and Oghren already in the dining hall, their plates piled high with eggs, sausage, and bacon. Oghren looked a little hung-over, but that wasn't anything unusual. Nathaniel sat down beside them with his own plate of food and joined in their conversation, filling Sigrun in on their trip to the Wending Wood and what they'd found in the mine. As Oghren told her all about the Architect, Nathaniel reflected on how strange it was that conversation had become so much easier for him lately. There was a time not long ago where he would have sat by himself in the hall, nodding his greeting to people but rarely conversing with anyone. He still very much enjoyed his solitude and privacy, but he was more social than he ever had been before.

This truly was his home now, and the Wardens were his family. Dwarves and mages, and a man who had once been a childish nuisance . . . and then an enemy . . . and now a friend. The Maker moved in mysterious ways, indeed.

It wasn't unusual that Gideon wasn't dining with them; he was an even earlier riser than Nathaniel. Quite often he would eat breakfast alone, before anyone else was awake. Nathaniel knew from talking with Gideon that the commander had horrible nightmares—even worse than the ones all Wardens experienced. It had to do with him taking the Joining during the Blight. From what Gideon had told him, it was a rare night that he got more than four or five hours of sleep. Given all that was going on, it was amazing that Gideon found enough energy to lead the Wardens. Though Nathaniel was certain it would never occur to Gideon to give up, or even to let someone else take charge for a time. Gideon would push himself beyond the point of exhaustion if he had to.

Nathaniel could understand that. There had been plenty of times while serving in the Free Marches that he had pushed himself past endurance during a mission or a campaign. In the early days of training to become a rogue he would find himself collapsing into his bed at night, barely able to move the next morning. Nathaniel's need to drive himself hard was borne of a need to prove himself to his father, even if the man had ceased all contact with Nathaniel after he'd been sent away. Nathaniel needed to prove to his father that he was strong and capable. That he was worthy. He wasn't entirely sure what it was that drove Gideon.

Gideon would not consider this to be a day of rest. Neither did Nathaniel. After spending nearly ten years as a soldier, he wasn't comfortable with idleness. There was always something to be done—a job to be performed, a task to be accomplished—even if it was minor. This would be a perfect day to spend in the training yard. His archery skills needed no honing, but it didn't do to become complacent. It also wasn't good to become too reliant on one single weapon. He was rusty when it came to using swords, and a good fighter needed to be able to use any weapon at hand. Having a live sparring partner was preferable to using the straw dummies in the training yard, so headed back into the dining hall to see if Sigrun would like to join him. She was a tenacious fighter, she wouldn't go easy on him even if they were just practicing.

oOoOo

"Not bad, Nathaniel," Sigrun said several hours later after Nathaniel conceded defeat for at least the third time. She clapped him on the back. "We'll make a duster of you yet."

Nathaniel favored her with a rare smile as he sheathed his sword. "I think that is the highest compliment I've ever received from you."

Sigrun laughed. "Don't let it go to your head."

"I would not dream of it." He followed Sigrun out of the practice yard and into the keep. The smell of stew wafted through the hallway.

"Thank the Maker," Sigrun said as she followed the scent into the dining hall. "I'm starving." Nathaniel's own stomach rumbled with hunger; breakfast had been several hours ago, and they'd both worked up quite an appetite with their sparring.

To Nathaniel's great pleasure, Anders arrived a half hour after the meal started and sat down casually next to him.

"Don't tell me you've been asleep all this time," Nathaniel said, low enough so as not to be heard by the others sharing their table.

"Of course not." Anders helped himself to a large bowl of stew. "After I checked on the Seneschal to see how he was recovering, Pounce and I spent a very relaxing morning in the library."

Nathaniel could picture very clearly in his mind the image of Anders sitting in an overstuffed chair near the window in the library, dangling a piece of string for Ser Pounce-a-lot to bat at. He wasn't usually one for idle fantasies, but the scene filled him with a sense of longing, and a wish that he'd spent the day in Anders' company after all. Though his inability to just be lazy would have made him antsy and possibly a little bored after only a short time. Perhaps Anders could teach him how to be idle. He'd very much like to learn how to spend a lazy day doing nothing much at all. Provided Anders was with him, of course.

Perhaps Anders could read his mind, or maybe he noticed something in Nathaniel's expression, because he very gently bumped shoulders with Nathaniel, making sure that no one saw. "It would have been nice if you'd been there." He smiled. "I _will_ get you to learn how to relax one of these days."

Nathaniel couldn't help but return the smile. "Are you sure you'd be up for such a difficult task?"

Anders laughed. "You'd be surprised how much I can accomplish if I set my mind to something."

Nathaniel already knew that from past experience. Behind Anders' mask of flippancy and apathy lay a stubborn strength that could carry him through any situation. Anders was genuinely good-natured, but Nathaniel had known Anders long enough now that he could tell that most of his carelessness was a front. In many ways he was every bit as strong and determined as Nathaniel was.

"How is the Seneschal?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Varel's a tough old bird," Anders replied. "He thinks he's fit to go back to work already, but I made him promise to stay in bed for at least another day. Even fully-healed wounds can take a physical toll on a body."

"Varel's not a young man anymore," Nathaniel agreed, knowing that age took a part in how long it took to recover from a serious wound. The body needed time to recover from the trauma.

After lunch was finished, Anders went to check on Varel once more—most likely to make sure the man hadn't leapt out of bed and tried to return to his duties. Anders and Nathaniel shared a long, lingering look before parting ways. Nathaniel desperately wanted to kiss Anders, but there were too many people around. He'd make it up to Anders tonight.

It occurred to him belatedly that Gideon had not been at lunch—that made two missed meals for the commander. Nathaniel wasn't necessarily concerned; Gideon was a grown man who could take care of himself. Still it wouldn't hurt to check in on him.

If Nathaniel was right in his suspicions that Gideon wasn't taking advantage of this day of leisure, he would likely be in his office; working on strategy, poring over records—trying to decide what their next move should be. It would be prudent for Nathaniel to offer any help he could. He knew this country better than Gideon did; if Gideon was planning on looking into what happened to that Grey Warden who disappeared, Nathaniel would be well-suited to offer advice regarding the most likely places for them to start looking.

Though if this Kristoff had indeed gone to the Blackmarsh, it was possible that he was dead by now. Strange rumors surrounded the area; stories of dangerous creatures and ghosts. Nathaniel didn't believe the part about ghosts, but he wouldn't be surprised about the dangerous creatures. Every single person living in that village had vanished once upon a time—definite signs of dangerous dealings.

He nearly ran into the man who was exiting Gideon's office.

"Pardon me," Nathaniel said automatically, looking up. His eyes widened in recognition and disbelief as he saw who it was. "Teyrn Loghain."

"A teyrn no longer, I'm sorry to say," Loghain said dryly. He looked Nathaniel up and down, inspecting him. "You're Rendon's boy, aren't you? Nathaniel."

It was a little surprising that Loghain recognized him. Nathaniel had been no more than 12 or 13 the last time he had seen the former teyrn. And although Loghain looked much the same, albeit with a few more lines on his face and a bit more grey in his hair, Nathaniel had changed quite a bit as he had grown into an adult. He'd always been told that he greatly resembled his father, though.

It was on the tip of his tongue to make the standard polite remark of _it is good to see you again_ , but that wouldn't be even close to the truth. Not anymore. He opted instead for "I'm surprised to see you here."

Loghain chuckled mirthlessly. "Don't worry, I won't be staying. I only wished to speak with the Commander before leaving." His expression turned sour. "Weisshaupt has seen fit to send me to Orlais. I'm not sure if it's meant to be a punishment, or a reward."

"Orlais?' Nathaniel asked incredulously. "Aren't you needed here in Ferelden?" Not that Nathaniel particularly wanted to serve alongside Loghain, but there were too few Wardens left in Ferelden as it was—it seemed foolish to decrease their numbers.

"You would think so, wouldn't you?" Loghain drawled. "But the First Warden seems to think everything is under control." He gestured back towards Gideon's office. "Your illustrious leader seems to think the same thing."

_Either that, or Gideon has even less desire than I do to fight alongside the man responsible for King Cailan's death_ , Nathaniel thought to himself. "The Commander a good leader," he said aloud.

"Indeed he is," Loghain agreed. "I daresay Gideon was born to be a leader. Men would give their lives to protect him in battle." He shot a glance at the pendant around Nathaniel's neck, the one containing a few drops of darkspawn blood. "Judging by that, perhaps you are one of those men."

Nathaniel said nothing. He fought alongside Gideon gladly, but he wasn't entirely sure if he would actually lay down his life for the youngest Cousland. No, that wasn't entirely true. He would give his life in battle if it meant saving the life of one of his comrades, Gideon included. His life belonged to the Wardens now.

"Well," Loghain said, after a long moment of silence between them, "I suppose it is time for me to take my leave."

"You aren't stopping here for the night?" Nathaniel asked, surprised but not exactly disappointed. "Surely the commander offered you a room."

"He did indeed," Loghain answered, "but I am not so old that I'm incapable of roughing it." He paused, his eyes taking on a faraway look that seemed uncharacteristic. "Besides, I would like to enjoy these lands as much as I can . . . it is quite likely I will never see Ferelden again." Loghain was walking away as he spoke those last words, and he was nearly to the door of the main hall when Nathaniel stopped him. This was the only chance he would ever have, and he needed to know.

"Did you know about my father," he asked bluntly. "Did you know about the things he did during the Blight?"

Loghain stopped and turned back towards Nathaniel, fixing him with a piercing gaze. "Everyone knows by now of Rendon's actions during the Blight. If you're asking if I knew at the time—no, I did not. I gave Rendon a significant amount of leeway. Far too much, as it turned out."

"He was your closest ally," Nathaniel protested. "How could you not have known what he was up to? The slavery . . . the imprisonment and torture of innocent people." He was trying his best to keep calm, but was having difficulty. It would be so easy to be able to blame Loghain, to think that the former teyrn had somehow forced his father to commit those crimes.

To his credit, Loghain neither flinched nor looked away from Nathaniel. He stood, proud and unashamed, resolute in his beliefs. "Ferelden was in the midst of war on all fronts—many things were done out of necessity that some might consider . . . monstrous. That doesn't mean they didn't need doing."

"Like what happened at Highever? Killing all of those innocents was necessary?"

"Rendon did tell me about the unfortunate events at Highever, how Bryce and Eleanor were killed." No mention of the countless others who were massacred that night. "They were traitors to Ferelden; Bryce would have lent his considerable army to Orlais had Rendon not stopped him. Treason comes with a high price."

Nathaniel felt his anger flaring. Ironic that he was now defending Gideon when it was not all that long ago that he believed that lie of treason. "And what price have you paid?" he asked contemptuously.

Loghain finally broke eye contact and turned back to the door. "More than you will ever know, boy."

Nathaniel wanted to call him back, question him further, but he refrained. He had seen Loghain's face before he turned away, that briefest of moments when an immeasurable grief had twisted his already craggy face.


	25. Chapter 25

_A rogue chapter appears! With long-anticipated naughtiness to boot!_

_Thanks to Olndina for helping me with this chapter!_

* * *

"What do you think our chances are of finding him?" Nathaniel asked.

Gideon was seated at his desk, poring over a map of the arling. The Blackmarsh was just a tiny dot on this oversized map, but it was the best resource they had. As far as Nathaniel knew, no detailed map of that area existed. It had been many, many years since anyone had lived there. "It's hard to say," Gideon said. "I think we've a good chance of at least finding traces of him if we search the area,but I'm not so sure about our chances of finding him alive."

Nathaniel nodded. It had been several months since Kristoff had reportedly left Vigil's Keep, and apart from his brief stay at the Crown and Lion in the city, there had been no reports of him since. "At least as a seasoned Warden he would be able to sense any darkspawn nearby and keep clear of them."

"Darkspawn can sense us, too," Gideon said grimly. "Though I don't know how well. And one Warden against a dozen genlocks wouldn't stand much of a chance."

Nathaniel frowned. "You speak as if he's already dead."

"Just being realistic, Nathaniel. The way our luck's been going, I'm not holding my breath for a happy ending. For any of this."

It was a surprising admission to hear from Gideon. He certainly wasn't the most optimistic person, but this was the first time he'd ever admitted the possibility of defeat. It worried Nathaniel. Gideon was the one keeping them all together.

Gideon rubbed at his eyes wearily. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be so defeatist." He straightened his shoulders, seeming to rally himself. "We need to end this, at any cost." He smirked. "I ended a whole Blight with just one other Warden to help me—a little invasion like this one should be a snap after that."

The two of them hadn't really spoken about Loghain; when Nathaniel had tried to broach the subject, Gideon had shrugged him off, making it clear that that particular topic was not to be discussed. Nathaniel suspected that Gideon's grim demeanor had less to do with lack of sleep, and more to do with the former teyrn's unexpected visit.

Nathaniel nodded. "We're all behind you, you know. Every one of us would fight with you to the bitter end, if need be."

Gideon's brow went up. "Even you?"

"Without hesitation," Nathaniel said sincerely, knowing now that it was true. The time for doubt was past—Gideon's brief display of it was proof. If Gideon could be strong for his Wardens, than Nathaniel could surely return the favor. Nathaniel had had his chance to walk away if he'd really wanted to; he didn't think Gideon would have actually tried to stop him. He hadn't taken that chance, and he knew that he never would. He was needed here. Not just by Gideon, but by every innocent person in danger of being harmed by the darkspawn. He would fight for those who couldn't.

"I'm not too sure about Velanna yet," Gideon said, looking over the map again. "I have a feeling she'll only be loyal for as long as it takes to find her sister."

Nathaniel shrugged. "She may surprise you. She's a good fighter, and strong-willed. She just needs to know we're not the enemy."

"You seem to be doing a good job on that front," Gideon said, alluding to Nathaniel's attempts at befriending Velanna. "I'm sure we can get her to trust us with time, but a Warden has to be able to choose the Order over family. As cold as it seems, duty comes before everything else."

Nathaniel understood that, though it pained him a little. He couldn't help but wonder what he would do if he were in her situation. Velanna had lost her sister, never to be recovered no matter how hard she searched. It was clear that she loved Seranni deeply—she had even told Nathaniel a few stories about when they were children—but Seranni had the Taint; even if they succeeded in finding her, she would not survive for long. And she had clearly allied herself with the Architect, Maker only knew why.

"Gaining trust works both ways, as well," Gideon added. "I trust her to fight alongside me, but not enough to have my back yet. I think I'll leave her behind at the keep when we set out for the Blackmarsh. If this place is as dangerous as you seem to think, I'd rather focus on the danger in front of me without having to worry about possible danger behind me as well."

As Gideon continued examining the map—occasionally making notes on it—Nathaniel allowed his thoughts to drift a little, towards a certain man whose lips he could still feel against his own, even though it had been hours since they'd last kissed. His closed his eyes, taking a slow breath as if he could somehow inhale the memory of Anders' exotic scent. Only a moment of fancy was allowed before he returned to the present, eyes opening as he answered another one of Gideon's questions about the lands surrounding the Blackmarsh. Idle fantasies didn't need to be indulged when he knew he would see Anders tonight.

Dinnertime drew close and Nathaniel excused himself to clean up. He took extra care with his ablutions, washing off the dirt and sweat of the morning's exercise using the basin in his room. He carefully rebraided his hair and trimmed his beard; not usually a vain man, Nathaniel wanted to look his best for Anders. Once he was clean, he changed into some fresh breeches and a tunic of dark blue. He was feeling a sense of nervous anticipation—after hours of near-impatience, only a short meal stood between himself and Anders being alone together in a bedroom.

Anders was already eating by the time Nathaniel entered the hall, his skin as pink and scrubbed as Nathaniel's own. Nathaniel noticed that Anders was wearing different robes as well—the emerald green ones that he'd acquired in Amaranthine a few months ago. The leather thong that held Anders' hair back was of the same color, perfectly complementing his honey-blond hair.

Nathaniel wasn't sure where to seat himself. Would it be presumptuous of him to sit beside Anders? Would it be considered a slight if he chose not to? Sigrun solved the problem as she waved him to sit beside her, across from Anders. Anders looked up from his soup as Nathaniel sat down. His eyes lit up and he smiled at Nathaniel, winking at him slyly before returning to his food.

Nathaniel hardly even noticed what he was eating; he was too focused on Anders. Halfway through the meal, he felt a very distinct pressure against the side of his leg. The wicked smile on Anders' face was enough to make Nathaniel realize that Anders was running his foot along Nathaniel's leg. He tilted his head down, trying to hide the smile that curved his lips. Anders' foot moved away before Nathaniel had a chance to decide whether or not to reciprocate. He looked up to see Anders pushing away from the table and standing up, the plate in front of him scraped clean.

Anders did an exaggerated cat-like stretch, arms raised above his head and back arching. Nathaniel suspected this display was meant for him. "Much as I hate to rob all of you of my presence, I've got a long night of potion-making ahead of me."

Gideon let out a chuckle. "That's what happens when you spend the entire day abed rather than being productive."

Anders laughed. "You and I have different ideas of what's 'productive.' No point in wasting the day working when you can spend it snuggled down in a nice, soft bed."

Gideon shook his head, a smile of amusement still lingering. "So long as you don't get into the habit of it; it'll be a long time yet before any of us can afford to be lazy for more than a few hours."

"Then I'd best make the most of your generosity." Anders gave an exaggerated bow to the entire table, his eyes catching Nathaniel's for a brief moment, before taking his leave. It wouldn't do for Nathaniel to draw attention by excusing himself right after Anders left, so he took his time finishing his meal. It was hard, but he wanted to keep things with Anders discreet, at least for now. They needed the time and privacy to explore things between them before the inevitable playful jeers and salacious comments would commence. This night was for himself and Anders, and as far as he was concerned, it was no one else's business.

When sufficient time had passed, he placed his napkin on his empty plate and scooted his chair out. He bade a quiet good night to everyone with slightly less aplomb than Anders had.

As most everyone was still at dinner, the hallway was deserted; Nathaniel headed for the stairway, half-fearful that Anders would not be waiting in Nathaniel's bedroom as promised. He had barely stepped onto the first landing when he felt hands reaching for him. Caught in a rare moment where his guard was down, he was pushed back against the wall. He was about to fight back when he felt warm lips pressed upon his. Instinctively, he clutched Anders' robes in both hands and pulled him in close. His tongue flicks against Anders' lower lip, seeking access into Anders' warm mouth.

They kissed for what felt like eternity but was likely only a few moments, before Nathaniel drew away from Anders' lips. He couldn't help the low chuckle that rumbled in his throat. "This isn't the most opportune place for kissing; someone might catch us."

"Don't care," Anders said, trying to lean in for another kiss. Nathaniel stopped him, somewhat reluctantly. The dinner hour was nearly over, and at any moment someone could be climbing the stairs towards their bedchambers.

He grasped Anders' hand. "Let's go somewhere more private."

Anders let out a huff of breath. "If you insist…" But he was smiling impishly and he squeezed Nathaniel's hand back as he allowed Nathaniel to lead him up the stairs. Anders walked casually into Nathaniel's room, as if he had been there a hundred times before. Nathaniel followed behind, anticipation thrumming through every part of his body.

The door snicked closed behind him, echoing loudly in the sudden silence. Now that they were finally here—alone together in Nathaniel's room—Nathaniel found that his patience was at an end. He didn't want to waste another second without Anders in his arms.

He grasped Anders' hand, tugging him close so that he could wrap his arms around Anders' waist. "I've thought about you all day."

Anders smiled at him. "You better have been. I'd be sorely put out if I was the only one looking forward to tonight."

"Definitely not," Nathaniel assured him. "I've waited for… well, for years, for tonight to happen. Though I didn't realize it." He cupped Anders' cheek, stroking it gently. "I've told you my secrets and you didn't flee—that means more to me than I can say."

Anders smiled. "I haven't found a reason to run from you yet." He leaned in and kissed Nathaniel softly. "And I'm glad neither of us has to wait any longer."

Nathaniel's arms tightened around Anders, pulling the mage flush against his chest as he kissed him back. Anders responded eagerly, melting into Nathaniel's embrace. There was no more need for words as Nathaniel slowly walked backwards, pulling Anders towards the bed. Just as they got to the edge, and Nathaniel was about to push Anders onto the mattress, Anders placed a hand on Nathaniel's chest, stopping him for a moment. "Tell me you want this" he said. "I want you to be sure."

Nathaniel smiled at Anders reassuringly. "I want this. I'm not going to run from you this time, I promise." He could understand Anders' wariness, and knew that the best way to prove himself was through action. He moved forward again, gently laying Anders down on the bed before sliding on top of him. They lay stretched out, kissing each other lazily, until eventually the kisses became more urgent and impatient.

There was a bit of awkwardness as they tried to undress each other while still embracing and kissing at the same time, but eventually they were both nude, their arms wrapped tight around each other. Nathaniel was still stretched out on top of Anders and he shifted a little so that their lengths rubbed together. Anders moaned lowly in appreciation of the gesture, his hips thrusting against Nathaniel's to increase the friction.

Nathaniel ground down against Anders, kissing and biting at his lips. His hand wandered over Anders' thigh, nails scraping his skin gently, causing Anders to hiss with pleasure. Their earlier activities in the bath had emboldened Nathaniel, and he felt much more comfortable exploring Anders' body with his hands and mouth. He kissed along Anders' jaw, and then his neck, teeth gently nipping at his earlobe along the way. Every breathless gasp from Anders was music to Nathaniel's ears, and he vowed to pull as many delicious noises from Anders as possible.

Part of him could not believe that he was really here–lying with Anders, being _intimate_ with a man he had wanted for months, but denied himself. For so many years he had blocked out his desires, resigning himself not only to a life of celibacy, but a life devoid of love or even romantic feelings. Yet here he was with Anders, and now that he had committed himself to this, it felt so completely natural and _right,_ that he could not imagine being anywhere else.

He kissed Anders' shoulder, hands still wandering freely. "Do you have oil?" he asked. He saw Anders nod out of the corner of his eye.

"In my robes." Nathaniel nodded his head and strained to reach the robes Anders had cast aside onto the floor only moments earlier. They were still warm from Anders' body, causing another wave of anticipation to shiver through his body. His nimble fingers found the vial of oil in a pocket and grasped it. He turned his attention back to his lover. Anders was propped up on his elbows, a serious look on his face."You're _sure_ about this? We can wait, you know. We don't have to—"

"I'm sure," Nathaniel growled. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

Anders looked a little sheepish. "Sorry. I just don't think I could take it if you ran away again."

"I won't," Nathaniel reassured him, stroking his arm.

"You'll tell me if it's too much?" Anders asked.

Nathanielrolled his eyes, his grasp on Anders' arm became firmer, and he ground his hips down onto Anders once more. "I am no virgin, Anders. I may not have much experience," he refrained from saying _I may not have as much experience as_ you _do,_ "but I know what I'm doing."

Anders raised an eyebrow, grinning playfully. "Oh, really? _Prove it._ "

Nathaniel chuckled. He had never been able to resist a challenge, especially not one with such a satisfying reward.

Nathaniel pulled the cork out of the bottle, releasing a faint woodsy scent that wafted through the air. His confidence in himself was quickly returning, and it was with a steady hand that he tipped the bottle and drizzled some of its contents onto his fingers. He stoppered the bottle and set it aside on the bed within reach for later use. He glanced at Anders to find the other man looking up at him intently, a smile on his face and a soft look in his eyes. Nathaniel smiled back as he reached down between Anders' legs.

Crooking his legs and planting his feet on the mattress, Anders made the process easier for Nathaniel as the rogue ran a slicked finger over Anders' puckered entrance, tracing the tight ring of muscle surrounding the opening. A soft sigh of pleasure drifted from Anders' lips and Nathaniel slowly teased at Anders', content with watching as the muscle expanded and contracted. When Anders made a slight sound of impatience, Nathaniel acquiesced and pressed his finger inside.

"Maker, yes," Anders moaned, his eyes slipping closed. Nathaniel wriggled his finger in deeper, crooking it slightly. When his finger brushed up against a soft mound of tissue Anders cried out. Nathaniel smirked, knowing he had found Anders' sweet spot. He rubbed his finger over it in a rhythmic motion, causing Anders to gasp. "Nate, please… " Anders begged.

Nathaniel just smiled at him. "Not yet." He drew his finger back far enough so that he could slip a second one inside. He thrust his fingers in and out of Anders' arse, brushing against that sensitive spot over and over.

Anders was nearly in a frenzy now, gripping Nathaniel's biceps and arching his back up. "If you don't take me right now—" Anders growled in warning, though the breathiness of his voice belied his arousal, as did his fully erect cock.

Finally relenting, Nathaniel drew his fingers out and reached for the oil. He poured more of it into the palm of his hand and smeared it over his own stiffened length. He grasped the back of Anders' thighs, pulling them up slightly as he knelt between Anders' legs.

One last tender glance down at Anders and then Nathaniel was pushing inside. He could not bite back a loud moan of pleasure as he felt Anders clench around him. Maker, he had forgotten how good this felt, to have this tight heat completely surrounding his cock, muscles clenching around him, a warm body beneath him. He pushed in slowly, with short, shallow thrusts, until he was completely sheathed inside Anders. He paused then, taking several moments to catch his breath and collect himself. It had been so long, and just being inside Anders felt so good that he was worried if he tried to move at all he would come instantly. He did not want his first time with Anders to be a complete disaster.

Finally, when he felt he had gotten himself under control, he started to move. His thrusts were slow and tentative at first, but Anders' moans of pleasure spurred him on. Soon he was thrusting in deeper, faster, and his quiet groans were nearly as frequent as Anders'.

Anders' soft sounds were interspersed with a litany of words of encouragement, telling Nathaniel how good he felt, how amazing he was. With the words harder, faster, and deeperleaving the mage's mouth as fast as any spells he threw in battle, Nathaniel complied as best he could, thrusting in as hard as he could. He leaned forward a little, changing the angle of his thrusts so that he hit up against Anders' sweet spot.

"Andraste's fucking arse!" Anders cried out, hips bucking up against Nathaniel. "Oh, Nate, oh Maker, that's _so good!_ "

Nathaniel loved the fact that Anders was being so noisy and talkative, rather than his usual wish for silence from the mage; encouragement that he was actually satisfying Anders was much-needed.

For himself… Maker, it had been so long that it felt like a faded memory, but he could not recall it ever feeling _this good_. He found a comfortable rhythm: fast, with each thrust pushing deep. It had been too long–he had wanted this for too long – that he knew he could not last much longer. One hand still gripping the back of one of Anders' thighs, he reached down and wrapped the other hand around Anders' length. Anders dug his nails deep into Nathaniel's biceps, hips coming up to meet each of Nathaniel's thrusts and to encourage the attention to his cock.

Nathaniel's thrusts became rougher and faster as the pleasure built up inside him, threatening to overflow. He stroked Anders fast, hand tight around his length until Anders came with a piercing shout of Nathaniel's name. When Nathaniel felt Anders' hot seed spurt over his fingers he lost it. With one last series of hard thrusts he came hard, buried to the hilt inside of Anders.

Panting, trying to catch his breath, Nathaniel practically collapsed on top of Anders. The hands that had been clenching his upper arms so tightly loosened, and he felt arms wrapping around his torso.

Anders turned his head to nuzzle at Nathaniel's cheek. "That was… bloody fantastic"

Nathaniel smiled at Anders before leaning in to kiss him deeply. "I'd have to agree with you on that," he said softly as he drew back. He slowly rolled over onto his side and pulled Anders into his arms.

Anders snuggled in close and rested his head against Nathaniel's chest. "I've dreamed about this so many times–literally dreamed about it–but they didn't even come close compared to the real thing." He smiled up at Nathaniel crookedly. "It was definitely worth the wait."

Nathaniel smiled wryly. "I'm glad you think so. For me . . . I should have done this a long time ago."

Anders laughed. "Well, we'll just have to make up for lost time, won't we?" His arms wrapped around Nathaniel's waist, purring contentedly as Nathaniel stroked his back..

"I would like that very much," Nathaniel said with all sincerity. "Now that I've had a taste of you, I don't intend to waste any more time."

Anders seemed to hesitate for a moment, biting at his lip. "I could . . . move in here. Only if you wanted," he added hastily. "We don't have to. I just thought that . . . it would make things easier. Instead of us having to creep back and forth into each other's rooms in the dark of night." He flashed Nathaniel a tentative smile.

Nathaniel was both extremely pleased and very touched by Anders' offer. "That would make the most sense," he said neutrally, careful not to sound too eager. He did not want to read more into this than Anders might want. Rooming together _would_ be more of a convenience, though they would definitely face a bit of teasing from the other Wardens for a bit. He found that he did not actually mind all that much, surprisingly enough. But he was sensible enough to realize that this was not any real declaration of commitment for Anders. While this was not _just_ about sex for him, Nathaniel knew, he also knew he had to tread carefully and not push too far, too fast.

"You do realize that Sigrun is going to tease us about this endlessly, right?" He smiled and kissed Anders' brow to indicate that he was not overly bothered by that fact.

Anders laughed. "Seeing as how she's been telling me for months that we need to 'just do it already,' I think she'll be fine with it."

Nathaniel's face flushed. "She said that?"

"She meant well, believe me." Anders brushed his nose against Nathaniel's. "She likes you–well, she said you're not that bad, considering you're a noble. Which I'd think is probably a pretty high compliment from a casteless dwarf."

Nathaniel nodded. "I'm sure it is." He looked at Anders hesitantly. "What did you say in regards to her suggestion?"

"I told her you were too much of a gentleman to have an idle fling, but that if you ever made an advance on me I'd jump you in a heartbeat."

" _Anders!_ " Nathaniel tried to be angry about Anders' lewd confessions to Sigrun, but found that he couldn't. He smiled wryly instead, shaking his head in disbelief. "You really are something else."

Anders looked proud of the comment. "I _do_ try to be unique."

"Oh, you certainly are. I doubt there's anyone else out there like you in all of Thedas." He rubbed Anders' back. "For which I am very glad."

Anders snuggled up against Nathaniel, yawning softly. "Mmm . . . glad you think so."

Nathaniel kissed the top of Anders' head. "You'll stay here tonight?" he asked, already feeling sleepy.

"Of course I will." Anders yawned again. "Too comfy to move now. You're much warmer than the pillows in my bedroom."

Nathaniel smiled as his eyes slowly shut. He was still trying to think of a witty response to Anders' comment when he drifted off to sleep.


End file.
